


The Hamilton Files

by NightFallArises



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Action, Action & Romance, Alternate Universe - Future, Alternative Universe - FBI, Angst, Begging, Discipline, Edging, FBI, Falling In Love, Fluff and Smut, Guns, Heavy BDSM, Idiots in Love, Love/Hate, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overpossession, Painful Sex, Rough Sex, Slow Burn, Smut, Spies & Secret Agents, Whipping, cars and guns, lots of smut, mafia, sexual crying
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:22:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 405,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22943986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightFallArises/pseuds/NightFallArises
Summary: There will be a plethora of shameless sex, BDSM smut, suspense; there will be danger. There will be action.In a modern AU, two forces struggle endlessly for power: the FBI and the American Mafia. Thomas Jefferson, a millionaire playboy, is the most valued agent, the best driver ever known. And only one man completes this lethal pair is Alexander Hamilton. The deadliest sniper in the world. But Alexander has been locked up in elite confinement for a year--by Thomas Jefferson's hand. Now... with the need being greater than ever for his return, Thomas Jefferson finds himself sent by headquarters to bring Alexander back. The Mafia has a new leader. He is dangerous, and he has revenge to take. With everything at stake, Thomas has to face his bitter rival and find themselves partners once more... even after their mysterious past. Even after the immediate, loathing sex.Will Thomas ever be able to forgive Alexander for the past? Will the two enemies ever find something more than lusty hatred?
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/Thomas Jefferson, George Washington/James Madison
Comments: 496
Kudos: 396





	1. Is That a Threat?

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! Thank you so much for visiting my fic; I hope you are ready for action and lots of BDSM smut! I'm so glad to have you! <3 😊

Thomas’s heels clicked on the grey tile floors as he strode with a brisk pace, hands swinging calmly at his sides. The fluorescent lights didn’t bother him through his one-way Ray-Bans, custom made. He passed iron vault door after iron vault door, not bothering to turn his head towards any of them; he knew which he was looking for, and anything else was simply of no importance. 

He turned a corner, leather dress shoes still clicking on the slick floors. Two guards were standing at the end of the hallway, wearing black suits just as Thomas was. But their guns were unconcealed. And their ID badges too. 

Both of their heads lifted from their conversation at the same time, taking in the man still striding curtly towards them. As if he were the warden. 

They cocked their chins in the air, the first’s hand discreetly, slowly, resting his fingertips on the holster of his gun.  
“Gentlemen.” Thomas drawled, thick, southern, dripping-like-honey accent throwing them off, the voice contrary to his appearance. The guard recovered in time to respond. 

“Sir. No visitors were allowed beyond first floor entry.” He stated clearly, straightening. Thomas stopped before them, professionally linking his hands behind his back. The corner of his lip twitched condescendingly.  
“If I happen across one, sir, I will alert you immediately.” He twanged, voice so deep that it rumbled in his chest. The guards darted a glance to one another, both considerably annoyed at this arrogant man, far younger than them both. The first was not amused. 

“Sir, I’m going to need to ask for identification.” He halfway sneered as if it was a scripted line, voice echoing a bit in the bright hallway, in no way taking this haughtiness seriously. Thomas stood there for a full twenty seconds, just taking the two of them in up and down like he was in charge. As if he were their supervisor, evaluating their efficiency with stingy scrutinization. 

He hummed and nodded. 

“Very well.” he responded cooly, reaching inside of his suit, fingers brushing over the gun to reach for his leather wallet. The two men watched him with extreme rapture, not allowing any sudden movements. Their eyes darted all over the dark haired man. 

Thomas produced his wallet and flipped it open, revealing his picture, the dark and golden FBI seal front and center. And as they scanned it the second's eyes widened slowly in recognition. And they realized who exactly they were talking to. They floundered, covering up sputters fairly well. 

“Apologies sir.” The second bumbled, stepping aside. Thomas stood still, not even looking at him.  
“I require access to this cell, if you please.” he nodded with impossible coolness, watching the first stubborn one purse his lips. He didn’t want to give in, but he had no choice.

“Yes sir.” He clipped through what sounded to be clenched teeth, turning crisply to the door and using a fingerprint to unlock it. Thomas stared icily as he heard the mechanisms within the door begin to turn and churn, flooding the hallways with bouncing echoes. 

Chink after chink, the door slid bar upon bar of reinsurance out of the wall.  
Thomas just watched, a light smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, dark brows twitching once above his ray bans as the door finally made one loud clang before falling silent. The sharp sound echoed through the hallway, filling the space with what sounded ominously similar to shouting, fading voices. 

The guard stepped aside with his partner. Both facing Thomas but giving discreet sideways glances inside the door to hopefully glimpse the contents. Hopefully. They didn’t have the authority to ever go inside, no. But Thomas did. 

With a hiss of pressure, the door slowly, at a crawling pace, glided open on oiled hinges. 

“Thank you for your cooperation.” Thomas smiled lightly to them before stepping within the room. The guards watched him glide by, exchanging glances before the vault door slowly swung closed. The sequence of clangs sounding as one by one, the bars slid back into place. 

One step inside, and all sound from outside was sealed off as if by a magical barrier. It was silent there. And dark, with the eerie, creeping feeling that he was being watched.  
Thomas sniffed and removed his sunglasses, placing them carefully in the inner pocket of his jacket. 

And then, the rows of flickering fluorescent lights came on with a clang for each one, starting at the front of the room and spreading to the back until the room was finally lit in a cold light. 

The room faded to silence once more. And Thomas stared. 

A laugh started small. Very small and breathy, but built up from the center of the room.  
“Ahhhh, and so he returns.” The voice laughed, fading off into an expecting sigh, as if contented.

The dark eyes met him from across the room, twitching an eyebrow, “Thomas Jefferson.” he spoke his name, ‘How are you?” he laughed. 

At the center of the room a young man sat in a chair, age about nineteen. He was in a chair, but one far from traditional. Thomas stared at him coldly, no emotion in his stony expression as he took in the setup. 

The boy’s wrists were chained to the cold arms of the industrial chair. His ankles chained to the floor at the base. Thomas’s eyes swept emotionlessly over his torso, which was held by huge leather and metal buckles at his chest and hips to the chair. But the part that made Thomas fairly interested was collar-up. 

He was bound, a thick collar that held his throat and attached to the chair behind him, holding his head uncomfortably up. Chains trailed up from the collar, attaching to the jaw of the muzzle he was wearing. The metal muzzle was mesh at the front and covered his nose and mouth, with the chains restraining his head movement even more. 

“Better than you, I see.” Thomas spoke emotionlessly. The two stared at each other, tension vibrating in the air. The boy’s hair was combed neatly, he looked perfectly clean, perfectly groomed, smiling as much as he could beneath that muzzle. 

The silence prevailed. The boy's lips slowly spread into a wide smile. And the pressure built up until Thomas could keep it up no more, breaking out into a light smirk.  
“Bastard.” he laughed lightly, watching the light twinkle in the boy’s eyes. 

“Got you.” the boy smiled widely, shuffling around a bit to the light clanking of chains. 

Thomas’s eyes flicked down to the wrists the boy had just twitched and flicked them back up to those dark eyes.  
“Comfortable?” He sneered lightly, a playful yet cruel undertone barely detectable. 

The boy shrugged it off as if it were nothing more than a pebble in his shoe. A minor inconvenience.  
“More so than it’s brother.” He tossed his hair lightly, finding Thomas’s eyes once again, “Down the hall. Now THAT chair’s uncomfortable. Good old sparky.” 

Thomas huffed through his nose, but let no emotion show on his face, “Bet you’re wishing for that now. Aren’t you.” he stated dryly. 

The boy laughed, white teeth showing for the first time, “Oh no, Thomas. You’re smart but you’re not that smart.” 

Thomas had begun to walk closer, hands behind his back, one slow step at a time.  
“How so, Alexander?” He inquired lightly, amused. Alexander gestured openly with his hands that he could move.  
“Oh, nothing.” he sang. Thomas was already growing irritable with his games.  
“Enlighten me.” he growled, stopping before Alexander. 

The boy looked up as much as he could with the muzzle chained to his collar, those eyes still with the same glint of dangerous intelligence. He stared up at Thomas in return; the man hadn’t changed in a year since he’d seen him. Thomas's black eyes were still cold as marble, his dark brows still dangerous and sharp. The arrogant, self-important air thick about him. 

Alexander shrugged again, breaking out into a sinful smile.  
“Come on, Thomas, why’d I wish for the fryer if I knew my favorite agent would come and say hello?” He laughed a bit, squinting his eyes.  
Thomas just stared coldly on, watching. 

“And realize he needs my help.”

Something in Thomas’s eyes flickered, his guard wavering for a fraction of a second.  
There it was.  
Alexander parted his lips like he was about to say “Ahh?” and made a tiny noise, raising his eyebrows to make it very obvious that he had noticed. Thomas’s stony facade was back up immediately, standing with chin in the air before Alexander. But he cursed himself for showing any weakness. Alexander, however, was delighted. 

“A year, Jefferson.” he whispered, lips slowly coming back together to curl into a malicious smirk, “A year to see that look on your face.” 

Thomas only retained his professional air, tossing his chin in a tiny motion and squinting his eyes.  
“Think you’re clever?”  
“Oh, I am.” Alexander answered confidently. Thomas hummed and nodded.  
“Clearly solitary confinement hasn’t worn on your insufferable attitude.”  
“Cleary not.” Alexander shrugged with a friendly grin, agreeing. 

There was a silence, Alexander waiting for Thomas to make the next move. Wanting to leap right back into battling wits, something neither could ever lose nor win. 

But Thomas’s eyes swept over Alexander, watching how his throat twitched against the choking collar, how his chest and belly rose and fell in shallow motions beneath the thick leather binds on his torso.  
Alex’s dark eyes darted from his leather binds to Thomas again, catching him looking. 

“You like?” he mused, wiggling a bit and laughing. Thomas curled his lip.  
“Custom designed for yours truly.” he nodded humbly.  
Thomas just scanned him over once more.

“Frankly, Alexander, I’m a little disappointed your ass couldn’t get out.” He sneered cockily, raising his chin. Alexander burst out laughing, surprising Thomas.  
“Oh, you have NO idea.” He wheezed, chains clanking and echoing in the large room, he caught his breath, swallowing against the thick collar on his throat. Thomas’s brows twitched.  
“How scared they are that I’ll get out.” Alexander finished his sentence. His eyes darkened with cruel humor, “They’re terrified.” He snorted. Thomas did not laugh. 

“Then why don’t you?” he drawled coldly, “You’re not one to dwell, as I remember.”  
“Yeah, you would.” Alexander sighed lightly. He leaned back, relaxing in his restraints, Thomas monitoring every movement. 

“Even consider that I’ve already done it?” Alexander questioned hypothetically; if he were free, Thomas knew he’d place his chin on his hand. But he was not, Thomas reminded himself with a smug smirk. 

“No.” Thomas spoke simply, blinking with the word. Alex kept up his previous tone.  
“And why is that?”  
Thomas was silent, hands behind his back as he glowered into those eyes. Those glinting eyes. The room was so impossibly quiet.  
“If you knew I was coming back, you’d keep your bastard ass in your little chair there.” Thomas spoke evenly, gesturing with his eyes to the restraint, “And wait.” 

Alexander hummed and nodded slightly, chains moving over one another. The smaller squinted from above the muzzle.  
“Still got a mouth on you?”  
“Easy to maintain when it’s not caged behind a muzzle.” Thomas shrugged, not a hint of warmth in his voice. Alexander laughed lightly through his nose, nodding.  
“Touche.” He mused. 

The two stood, cocky arrogance thick in the room as they faced each other off. Alexander just barely twitched an eyebrow that would be almost unnoticeable to anyone but Thomas Jefferson. Thomas twitched one right back. The two fell back into the petty clash for power that was inevitable, inescapable, still after all this time. 

“Why are you here, Jefferson?” Alexander spoke evenly, nothing moving but his lips beneath the cold metal cage. Thomas let his voice echo to nothing, staring with those cold, icy eyes. 

“You.”  
“Flattered.” Alexander scoffed, watching Thomas take another two steps until he was standing at the base of the chair, looming down on him with his powerful presence. He smelled faintly of expensive Yves Saint Laurent. 

“If you came to mock me, Thomas, my ass if I’m going to sit here and listen to your bullshit.”  
“And what are you going to do?” Thomas taunted, laughing mockingly through his nose and quickly sweeping up and down with his eyes. 

Alexander shrugged, cracking a couple of knuckles out of boredom.  
“Probably just get up.” 

A tiny shot of adrenaline spurted into Thomas’s chest, pricking fear into his veins. He didn’t let anything show on his marble face. Alexander tried to cock his head a little bit, restrained by the collar.  
“Scared?” 

“Oh, do you wish, Hamilton.” Thomas shook his head slowly, relishing his power, “Do you wish.”  
“And what if I told you…” Alexander’s eyes darkened, brows pulling in to shade them. Thomas’s finger twitched behind his back, sensing that something was off.

His heart pattered out of thrilled fear, the strange mix of emotions that came with the package, “That I’ve been free the entire time.” 

On the last word, there was a flurry, a flash of movement. Alexander jerked forward, but within a fraction of a second, Thomas had found his gun within his coat and cocked it with a sharp click, placing it right under Alexander’s chin. And then it was over.

Panting, sharp breaths were the only sound in the room as the hurricane of movement wound down. The pure suspense was tangible between them, vibrating. Neither made a move. 

A smile spread across Alexander’s face, the widest grin Thomas had seen in a long time.  
“You’re bluffing.” he whispered in the silence.  
“Try me.” Thomas growled back, holding the gun, just barely touching his skin. Thomas’s hand was frighteningly steady; it did not waver, just held still and calm on the trigger. Alexander tried to look down. 

“Glock 44?” he inquired conversationally.  
“45.” Thomas sneered coldly, not letting down his guard in the slightest. Alexander only chuckled lightly, shaking his head. 

He sighed longingly, “Oh, Thomas. You’re not going to shoot me.” he settled back against the chair.  
“Really? Is that what you think?” He cut right back icily, pressing the gun a little closer to his jaw, “I’ll blow your fucking brains out and only regret losing a bullet.” 

“And an agent.” Alexander countered.  
Thomas’s brows remained pulled in, not moving the gun away. He didn’t waver. God, a part of him wanted to do it. Fuck.  
Alexander just parted his lips.

“Get the gun out of my face, Jefferson.” he tried to raise his hands to show that he was still chained down; he had been bluffing the whole time. Thomas’s eyes darted down to his wrists and back to Alexander anger flaring up.  
“Bastard.” he spat under his breath, not moving the cold barrel away from his face.  
“That’s my name.”  
“Shut up.” 

Thomas cut right back, not allowing the boy any time for more ridiculous mind games.  
“Listen to me very closely, Alexander.” he breathed evenly, seething through gritted teeth. Alexander glowered at him. 

“I’ve got a little paper slip in my pocket that gets you out of here. Today.” He enunciated clearly, watching for any change in expression but Alexander’s face remained indifferent.  
“And the whole FBI on my back too. Not me, fucker, if it were still up to me I’d let you rot in this cell as you deserve. And I'd enjoy watching.” 

Alexander just twitched a brow at him. And Thomas pressed right back, holding the gun at a pressure where it was painful on his delicate throat.  
“I put you here. I’ll put you right back if you even try to disobey me. Am I clear?”  
“I’d like to see you-”  
“Am. I. Clear.” he clipped spitting the words and drowning out Alexander’s voice with his clear authority. Alexander kept his eyes locked with those dark ones of his ticket out the door. The intensity was stifling.  
And at some points, Alexander knew when he had to submit to Thomas’s authority. He remembered that much... 

“Crystal.” Alexander dictated, watching Thomas scan him up and down. The man calmly lowered the glock from his face with an indifferent sniff, placing it back into his suit like it was just a wallet. 

“Excellent.” he nodded curtly like they had just completed a business transaction. And had they not? 

“Move, and I clock you out.” Thomas warned calmly, moving to press his fingerprint to the pad on one arm of the chair. The chains around Alexander’s wrists and ankles clanged and chinked as they filed back into the chair mechanically, freeing him. The boy sighed and rolled his wrists, listening to them crack and pop stiffly. 

Staring right in his eyes, glowering, Thomas leaned in close to him, unbuckling the huge leather restraints around his torso. Alexander watched with a malicious grin spread on his face, so wide and mocking as he watched Thomas Jefferson jerk slightly at the buckle and free him. The very same man that watched the vault door close a year ago, indifferent hatred in his eyes as the door clanged shut. 

“Oh, how the tables have turned.” Alexander hummed contently whilst Thomas pressed his thumb to another pad, releasing his throat from the collar. He coughed slightly, letting the feeling of a freed head stance pleasure him. 

“I’m not responding to that.” Thomas clipped tightly through a clenched jaw.  
Thomas took his hair in hand and yanked his head down roughly, exposing the three different buckles on the back of his head that fascened the muzzle and unclipping them one by one with cold disregard for gentleness. Alexander smiled down at his legs as Thomas worked, jerking his head. 

And finally, his face was freed from the leather and metal cage. He sighed heavily, cracking his jaw back and forth, moving it around. 

Thomas stepped back and stood, watching him. The smaller man heaved a huge sigh, rolling his head forward and to the side.  
“Crick in my neck.” he huffed, squinting and trying to work it out.  
“I’d imagine.” Thomas drawled coldly, regaining his calm control over his wrathful temper.

Alexander smoothed his hair back over his head neatly, tucking it carefully behind his ears.  
“Shall we?” he smiled sweetly, opening his arms and standing from that wretched chair. His voice echoed. Both of his knees popped. 

Thomas’s lip curled in distaste.  
“Don’t do it, Alexander.” he warned darkly. Alex knew what he meant.  
Alexander stretched a smile, stepping forth on incredibly steady feet for someone chained up for so long. But this wasn’t just someone. This was Alexander Hamilton. 

He was now free to move, wearing only the white shirt and pants of the elite penitentiary. He stepped up beside Thomas, who had turned his front to the door. Alexander stopped next to him, folding his hands behind his back in just the same way. 

Thomas was massively uncomfortable. After all this time, a whole year since the chaos was said and done. Look where it had brought them: right back to the start.  
Alexander had only existed in the back of his mind, tossed into the shadowy, dusty corners, locked away as he was in reality. And now he was in the flesh, breathing and blinking beside Thomas. It messed with his head, threw the most collected man off. He didn’t want to believe it.

Alexander grinned and looked up to Thomas with those glinting brown eyes, devilish and cunning. At Thomas’s subtle signal to the hidden cameras, the door began to clunk the metal bars out of place, shifting them from the iron wall once again. The mechanism worked within the vault door, grinding and plunking. 

Alexander still looked up at him, malice spreading in his heart.  
“Agent Hamilton... Reporting to duty.” he whispered, a smirk twitching the corner of his lips. It was cruel. That conniving bastard. 

Thomas did not look at him or meet his gaze; he felt the passionate hatred well up, stirring from the ancient place it resided from, an old, seething hatred.  
“I warned you, Hamilton.” His voice was low and dangerous, a clear and blatant warning, “Don’t. Do it.” he clipped.

Alexander just kept that light smile on his face, raising his chin as if he was going to be obedient and follow orders. But Alexander made one last remark before they stepped into the blinding, bright hallway. 

“What you did to me, Jefferson. It’s unforgivable.” He whispered, not looking at him.  
“Is that a threat?” Thomas shot right back, unafraid but curious.  
“No.” Alexander shrugged, “It’s the truth.”  
Thomas laughed amusedly through his nose at his riddle-like words. He truly hadn’t changed. Just as insufferable and conceited. Just as manipulative and egoistic.

The two glided past the guards, who stood resolute and expressionless, as trained. But Alexander could see their micro-expressions; they were in shock. And it pleased him. The fear in their eyes pleased him. They padded down the long, tile hall, neither one speaking. 

“Stay away from me, Agent Hamilton.” Thomas spoke formally out of the blue as they turned the corner. Alexander looked up at him curious, but Thomas’s dark, stormy eyes were locked straight ahead, his posture impeccable as always. 

“And that is a threat.” he spoke cooly.


	2. Know You Far Too Well

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter 2! Thank you so much for reading, loves! I'm so excited to have you, and any and all support is appreciated! <3 😊

Thomas huffed out a breath of air as he sat down in the comfortable leather chair. It was much needed, and he leaned back. 

James Madison returned back to his long, slick, virtually empty desk and lowered into his own tall chair with a sigh as well. The room was spotless, as per usual.

“The formalities?” James inquired, scooting the chair closer to the pristine desktop.   
“Dealt with. Unless you have any questions.” Thomas responded, pulling out his luxury Bentley pen from his pocket. James just swiped through the screen in his desk for a moment, sweeping over the information. 

Thomas watched in the silence, tapping his pen rhythmically on his thigh. 

James didn’t take long, closing out the data and leaning back a bit, leather chair leaning back with him.  
James Madison was the warden of the elite penitentiary. Highly regarded by Washington and the rest of the FBI, Thomas had made a point to become friends with the man long ago, but had grown to like him despite his own power-seeking motives. 

He looked at Thomas and gestured openly with his hands.  
“So. What do you think?” He asked with a light smile. Thomas shrugged, twirling the pen once and catching it neatly in his palm.  
“That’s a wide question, Madison.” he twitched a brow at his friend. James nodded with a smile. 

The older scooted his chair back again, bending all the way down and opening a well-gliding cabinet. Thomas sat still in cool curiosity, which was answered when James came back up. A frosted crystal bottle was in his hand, and one small glass. The highest-end Casa Dragones Jovens.   
“Tequila?” He sighed as if exhausted.   
“You already know my answer if you only got out one glass.” Thomas observed, amused.

James shook his head lightly, uncapping it with a pristine ringing note before pouring some of the liquid.   
“Nothing escapes you, Tom.”

Thomas turned his head to view the aquarium-wall, feeling his spine prickle in disdain at the word choice.   
“Well...” Thomas grinded his jaw for a moment, muscles showing on his face. James caught the darkening of his expression and mood, realizing how Thomas had interpreted his statement. 

He sighed.   
“Come now, Tom, the boy’s not escaping. Especially not escaping you.”   
“I put him here.”  
“Yes.”  
“And he’s getting out clean.”

“On condition.” 

Thomas scoffed, leaning back in his seat and crossing and ankle over his knee. He placed his pen to his lips, shaking his head silently.   
James sighed.   
“Tom, I know you’re not happy with this. Rightfully so, in your case.” 

“Ha.” Thomas laughed morbidly, nodding as James continued to speak.   
“But if Washington requests him back do you not think it’s necessary.” Thomas shrugged as if this were a petty matter; someone had stolen his lunch out of the office fridge. 

“Washington’s got a sweet spot for Hamilton.”  
“Oh, don’t, Thomas.” James rolled his head back a bit, eyes fluttering in exasperation. He’d heard this one before, that was for sure. Thomas just twirled the pen once more, letting it slap on his palm. 

“Whatever. At this point all that matters is Washington never assigns him and I as partners. Never again.” Thomas spoke, leaning back again and staring out the massive, seamless window behind them, “That’s all that matters.” he grumbled inaudibly, more to himself than anyone else. 

James had the glass to his lips and set it down, licking his lips laughingly.   
“And why wouldn’t he?” James asked, folding his hands in his lap. Thomas’s brows pulled in, glowering.

“What do you mean ‘why wouldn’t he’?” Thomas snapped back, trying not to snarl at him. 

James blinked incredulously as if Thomas had just started speaking Japanese, “You think Washington is going to take the most dangerous pair of all time and just…” James shrugged indifferently, frowning as he waved a hand, “Toss it in the trash.”

“That man. Is a sociopath.” Thomas leaned forward, whispering through seething, clenched teeth. James just watched him calmly, knowing he was speaking of Alexander, not Washington.

For a few beats of silence, Thomas just bore into those light eyes with his own dark ones of power. 

And then he leaned back slowly once more.   
“It could never be the same anymore.” He spoke collectedly. 

James looked at him for a moment, considering him carefully, before putting his hands on the arms of the chair and nodding in understanding.  
“Very well, Tom.” he spoke, “There’s nothing left to do but wait for Washington’s orders.” he shrugged.

James’s eyes darted to the clock, “When are you headed to see him?” 

“Now.” Thomas responded shortly, tucking the pen back inside his jacket, “I’m not spending any extra time with that bastard. And I’m still mad I was assigned to this.” He huffed as if he was going to file a complaint, leaning forward to stand stiffly. 

“I’m sure you are.” James dipped his head with a light smile, watching him rise. Thomas pulled back his cuff a bit to glance at his Audemars Piguet watch. He sniffed, straightening the front of his suit and buttoning it like second nature. 

“I’ll bring Washington your greetings.” he finished, turning towards the door.   
“Don’t bother; I’m seeing him tonight.” James mumbled, tucking the bottle away again. But Thomas stopped, looking over his shoulder. 

That devilish smirk spread across his sly face.   
“Seeing him tonight?” 

James sat back up in his chair, rolling his eyes in exhaustion.  
“Oh, come off it, you child, this is a business meeting.” 

Thomas bit his lip sinfully and nodded, turning back towards the door.   
“Well I hope all business goes well.” he purred with that deep southern accent. James placed his hands on his desk and laced his fingers, watching Thomas go. 

“I’m sure it will.” James dictated stiffly, no intention but professional in his voice. Thomas hummed, stepping out of the room. 

His heels clicked past the many offices on this level of the pristine penitentiary and towards the elevators, pressing his thumb to another pad to make the silver steel doors part with a ding. He paced in and pivoted on one heel, watching the doors slide together and close off the cold hallway. 

He was quickly alone. In the silence. 

As he stood there alone in the small space, his feelings of familiarity around his friend began to fade and rub off him, bringing him back to where he truly was. As the screen showed the floor number, decreasing by the second in the silence, he realized that to him it was a countdown.

Thomas’s fingers twitched once again behind his back, tapping against the knuckles of his other hand. It was the only sound in the claustrophobic space. 

He coughed slightly, pulling at his collar with one finger and tightening his tie, always in prime appearance. Just another assignment for him to finish with top marks and a one-hundred percent success rate. He should treat this business as he would any other assignment, coldly, professionally, authoritatively. 

And yet it still irked him that Alexander was sitting, locked in a car, waiting for him down there. The man who he hadn’t seen in over a year, just waiting for him like the clock had turned back. Like he’d gone home for the night and was back at work the next day. The way he had dared to talk to Thomas… like he even had the right to do so; it made Thomas's blood spike. 

Thomas’s lip twitched in distaste as the elevator reached the private zero-access parking garage. Guards had escorted Alexander there whilst Thomas was running over business with the warden. 

With a ding, the steel doors slid open, revealing him to the echoey space beneath the building. Thomas reached into his suit irritably and pulled out his ray bans, placing them back over his face. Fucking fluorescent lights.

He clicked out, the sound of his heels even further amplified in the sprawling, empty space. So eerie. 

There were rows and rows of identical black SUVs with one row of seats, the entire back cleared out for one purpose: prisoners. As Thomas strolled by, chin in the air as usual, he glanced into the window of one to find that it was one-way. But he’d seen the inside of one. A year ago. A rig in back to cage the patient in and chain them down. 

His car was waiting just outside the elevator, engine running quietly. The cold agent strode up to it, dismissing the guards with half a nod. He pulled himself together, something he rarely ever had to do. It didn’t matter all the things he thought about Hamilton at this moment. Drive the car. Get away from him. That was what his new assignment. 

But he hated this car. With a passion. 

It wasn’t his, it was the bureau's. Regular black, tinted windowed SUV, agonizingly basic. Rounding to the front, Thomas almost sneered at the inferiority as he placed his hand on the handle, pulling it open and swinging himself inside. 

The interior was leather, of course, and black like everything else. But absolutely nothing was custom. 

“Think I went gray while I was waiting for you.” A voice piped up from the second row. Thomas’s shaded eyes glanced to the rearview mirror, catching Alexander’s brown ones. He placed his hand on the wheel, knuckles white as he gripped unnecessarily hard. 

Alexander was sitting leisurely in the right seat, feet propped up onto the back of the passenger seat. Handcuffs lay on the spot next to him, open and discarded. He'd gotten out of them. 

Alexander looked from Thomas’s stony expression to the handcuffs and back.   
“Got uncomfortable.” he shrugged casually, crossing his arms slowly over his chest. 

All Thomas could do was hold down a loathing scoff and put his foot to the gas, slowly turning the wheel as they glided into motion. But as Thomas sat stiffly in his seat, refusing eye contact, Alexander was far more persistent. 

“Where’s your Nightcrawler?” he asked curiously, “Never thought you’d drive this piece of shit.” 

Thomas’s lip curled, “It seemed fitting for the occasion.” he clapped back, shaking his head lightly as they pulled up to the security checkpoint, the guard scanning Thomas’s identification and coming to the window to scan Alexander’s microchip before waving them onwards. 

Thomas watched with a light smirk tugging the corner of his lips as Alexander pulled down the sleeve of his shirt again. 

“How’d that feel? Going in?” Thomas mused, one hand steering the wheel as they turned, winding in ascending loops over and over again towards the street-level. Alexander met his eyes in the rearview again. 

“Hurt like hell.” Alexander spoke, a twinge of playfulness beneath his tone, “But I don’t mind.” he breathed quietly. His lips twitched in the smirk, knowing he was asking for trouble.

Silence prevailed as he awaited Thomas’s reaction. The man just steered, eyes straightforward, concealed behind those sunglasses; he wouldn't respond to that blatant beg for a fight. 

Alex was unrelenting.   
“You know that, Thomas.” 

“Agent. Jefferson.” Thomas clipped cooly, rotating his palm around the wheel as they pulled out onto the street, “Don’t talk to me, Alexander.”

Alex’s lips parted and he raised his brows.   
“Oh, not very friendly.” He purred. Thomas ignored him turning the corner onto the streets of Washington DC.

Alexander leisurely turned his head, gazing out the window. The sunlight fell on his face, washing him in warmth and light he hadn’t felt in a year. So refreshing. 

“Gotta say I missed it, Jefferson.” He sighed, shifting his hips in the seat. He let his eyes fall closed and hummed pleasantly.   
“Today’s a good day. I don’t think even your sour ass could put me in a bad mood.” 

“Is that a challenge?” Thomas sneered, regripping the wheel. God… this had to be over soon. This was torture. Hair-pulling torture.   
“If you want.” Alex shrugged, settling. 

“What I want…” Thomas scoffed sarcastically in his head. If this was about what he wanted, he’d do a 180 and dump that freak’s ass right back in the asylum where he belongs. But it wasn’t about what he wanted, and that irked him. 

They drove in silence for a full five minutes, neither saying a word.   
Alexander was captivated with the outside sights, enthralled in the way light glinted off of the windows of buildings, how cars whizzed by, how individual leaves rustled on trees. He’d forgotten. 

“...Thomas, where’s my personal articles?” He inquired lazily after the period of silence. Thomas’s stony, shaded face didn’t waver.   
“I told you to shut up.” He spoke evenly. Alex’s brows swooped down.   
Both sensed the trouble beginning to brew. 

“Hey. I’ve got a right to my own shit. Where is it?” Alexander snapped, lashing back angrily.   
“Hey. What the hell did I just say? Shut up.” Thomas was far more authoritative than Alexander. The temper in the car quickly escalated, but Alex wasn’t taking any shit today. He made his decision.

“You know what? Pull over.” 

Thomas was struck with shocked offense. He hadn't just heard what he thought he heard. 

“Excuse me?” he spat, glancing over his shoulder briefly. Alexander took his feet down from the passenger seat one at a time. He leaned forward over the center console against his seatbelt.   
“You heard me. Pull over.” He snarled. 

Thomas wasn’t following his orders, not in the slightest. But by his own will, Thomas screwed up his lips in fury and expertly veered the wheel, sending them skirting off the road. The wheels crunched on gravel as he slammed the breaks, hard. 

Alexander’s face smacked into the back of the chair, sending his head snapping back.   
“Augh…” he groaned, hands to his face, but Thomas was already taking care of business. He jerked the gear into park and whirled around in his seat, gripping the back for leverage. 

“Who the hell do you think you are?” Thomas spat, livid with anger. Alexander squeezed his eyes shut and blinked them open and closed several times, watering.   
“Someone who just got his fucking FACE flattened. Jesus CHRIST, Thomas.” he scoffed, voice muffled behind his hands. Thomas ground his jaw, not able to care any fucking less. 

Alexander lowered his hands from his nose, checking for blood, blinking when there was none. He sniffed and looked up, coming point-blank into eye contact with Thomas’s dangerous, dark eyes. 

It was silent within as they heard cars whiz closely by on the highway, the wind buffeting their SUV. They seemed to be in the middle of the route, in the middle of goddamn nowhere. 

Alexander sniffed again, moving his face around to get the feeling back.   
“Give me. My stuff.” He lowered his voice and asked calmly, hands balling into fists at his sides. 

Thomas curled a lip at him, showing his canines.   
“No.” he sneered.   
Alexander surged forward, slapping a hand on the center console in frustration. Thomas drew his gun from inside his jacket seamlessly once more, cocking it with a click and pointing it at Alexander’s face. The second goddamn time today. 

There was a tense moment of hesitation, Alexander’s heart skipping a beat at the threat.   
But Thomas wouldn’t dare. He wouldn’t dare. The smaller man quickly recovered, bursting out into a laugh. He smiled, leaning forward to press his throat to the barrel of the glock. 

He smiled prettily over the top of the gun into Thomas’s face, resting his chin on it with a sigh.   
“You think your stupid little plaything scares me?” Thomas’s hand stayed steady, his face completely cold and emotionless. 

Thomas shook his head slowly.   
“You’re out of your mind.” he whispered, lethally quiet. Alexander just laughed again. The smaller man wanted to push Thomas JUST a little bit further. JUST enough so that he was at the limit of his patience, at the end of his fucking limit, and then push him some more. He wanted to test it. 

Alexander let a sinfully malicious grin spread across his face as he pulled his chin back off the gun, gazing in Thomas’s eyes as he hummed, biting the barrel of the glock. Thomas gaped at him in blatand disgust. Alexander just smiled evilly. 

“Just a little.” he whispered around the barrel. 

Thomas shook his head, swallowing once.   
“On God, Alexander…” he whispered, finger on the trigger, “On fucking God, you are begging for me to put a bullet in your mouth.” 

Alexander sighed tiredly, “Haven’t we been through this today?”   
“It would be easy. No one would know.” Thomas shook his head in desperate longing, relishing the thought and knowing that only his first statement was true. Alex laughed lightly through his nose.   
“We could do this all day; you know I don’t mind.” Alex shrugged, pulling away from the gun and leaning back in the seat with a relaxing grunt. He crossed his legs, “I like danger.” 

Thomas kept it pointed at his face.   
“You sick fuck.” he spat with a tongue of pure FIRE, “You belong in an asylum you fucking sociopath.” 

“I disagree.” Alexander shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest again, “The other sociopaths were not nearly as well-dressed.” he joked.  
Thomas kept shaking his head, wanting to SO badly. His eyes were black with warning. Warning that Alexander had forgotten how to obey. 

“So where’s my clothes?”   
“Titanium trunk in the back. Don’t move.” 

Alexander obeyed that one. 

Thomas’s eyes darted to his Audermas Piguet to check the time. Oh shit, it was already 4:00, his heart fluttered.   
They found Alexander’s once again, the smaller man twitching an eyebrow.   
“What’s it gonna be?” Alexander asked, “Not walking in there without my suit.” 

“You’re walking in there however the hell I say so.” Thomas snarled back, canines showing, “But lucky you, we’ve got a date with Washington in half an hour and my ass if I show up late because wise-guy’s trying to be smart with me.”   
“Guess time flies when a jackass waves his 45 at you.”   
“Shut up.” Thomas cut back cooly.

The man gestured with the barrel to the third row.   
“Back there. Get the trunk and bring it to the second row. I wanna watch you open it.”   
Alexander raised his hands in annoyed mock-innocence and turned around in the seat, bending over the middle row to grab the trunk. 

Thomas monitored his every move, his every breath as he heaved the heavy case over the seat with difficulty. It fell to the leather with a smack, bouncing a bit.   
“Shit…” Alexander breathed. Thomas ignored him. 

“Open it.”  
Alexander shook his head, fingers working at the clasps, “No, really Thomas? Thought step two was chuck it through the fucking windshield.” he mumbled.  
“Open it, and never talk back to me again.” 

Alexander looked up, opening his mouth as if to say something but hesitating as Thomas twitched his eyebrows dangerously.  
Now THAT… THAT was a command not to be ignored. No matter how he loathed it. Cheeks burning in hatred, he closed his mouth and scowled at the case, clicking it open on both sides. 

His button-up white shirt, suit jacket, pants, dress shoes, and tie were sealed in airtight bags, folded neatly on top of one another. Alexander’s fingers worked to slide everything out of the bags, tossing them on the floor. Thomas’s lip twitched; if this car was his Nightcrawler he’d give a fuck. 

“Get dressed.” Thomas clipped, gesturing leisurely with his gun, “And quickly, I don’t have time for you.” 

Alexander grabbed the hem of his shirt with crossed arms and pulled it up and over his head, letting it fall to the floor. He tossed his long hair, smiling over his shoulder at Thomas.

“Enjoying the show?” he winked playfully, pulling off the white pants so he was in nothing but boxer briefs. Thomas’s face didn’t move at all, trying to restrain himself.  
“I’m making a list in my head... Right now... Reasons not to pump you full of lead.” 

“And where’re we at?” Alexander inquired lightly, sure to show off his body as he moved to find his dress pants. Thomas couldn’t help but sweep his eyes over the boy once. Or more than once. 

“In the negatives.” Thomas sneered slowly, curling a lip, Alex just laughed. 

As he got dressed, Thomas cursed himself for watching. He hated that he was, but a part of him couldn’t resist it. The way he moved... the curve of his sharp hip bones, the smooth shoulders and belly. The shape of his legs. He sniffed and looked at the ground for a moment, hating himself. 

He couldn’t let this mess with his head. That was what Alexander was doing, after all. Messing with his head. And he hated him for it. 

“Oh no, you can watch.” Alexander spoke in a friendly, reassuring tone, but his eyes glinted with malice. Thomas scowled back up. 

“Excuse me?” He scoffed. Alex buttoned his pants.   
“I can see you watching.” He shrugged, smiling to himself as he reached for his shirt, “It’s okay, I don’t mind.” 

For a few moments, Thomas just sat there, dumbstruck. Fucking speechless.  
Alex just shrugged on his shirt, buttoning it up and humming pleasantly to himself as if he hadn’t said anything at all. But Thomas’s mind was racing, roiling. He wouldn’t take any more of Alexander’s bullshit. Today had to be over soon, and he'd make sure of it. 

“That’s it. You’re done.”   
Thomas clipped, shaking his head like a disappointed father. He turned away and jerked back into his seat, yanking the gear back into drive. Alexander’s brows swooped down, face taking on a defensive stance.   
“Hey, what th-”

He was thrown backwards into his seat as Thomas revved the engine and swung them back onto the road, wheels drifting a bit in the gravel. He expertly turned the wheel, merging seamlessly into the left lane. 

Alexander was tossed around, but he shot right back up, shaken.  
“I’m sorry, what the hell is wrong with you?” he yelled.   
“Get dressed. You had your chance. You’re done.” Thomas kept his eyes on the road, gripping the wheel so hard, his knuckles could shatter.  
“B-”  
“NOW, Hamilton.” Thomas barked, temper flaring up at Alexander’s nerve. At his cheek. At his fucking AUDACITY to say something like that to him. 

And then words were flowing out of his mouth and he couldn’t stop them. It was a hurricane of curse words and a year of pent up hatred. A part of him knew he’d been waiting for this opportunity. WAITING for this argument. He wanted to watch Alexander burn, and he wanted to be the one to do it. He couldn't stop himself.

“Washington’s the one who wants you back, not me, bastard.” he spat, jerking the wheel to aggressively change lanes, “You know what I think? You know what’s the truth?” Thomas snarled, “We don’t need you. We’ll never need you again; you're a dirty traitor.”

“I DID WHAT I HAD TO DO.” Alexander roared, but Thomas was more than ready to lash back.   
“You did what you WANTED to do because you’re a SADIST.” Thomas roared in return,  
“And I hate you. I’ve hated you every day you were locked up. I hated you every second of every minute knowing they didn’t light you up the SECOND you stepped away from Randolph’s body.”   
A silence fell in the car, but there wasn’t a hint of calm. The silence was so still, so quiet, it was as if time itself had stopped. 

“Don’t.” Alexander shook his head, seething quietly now. There was no hint of a joke in his voice. He wasn’t fucking joking around anymore.   
“Don’t bring Randolph into this.” 

“This is ABOUT Randolph, you bastard.”   
“NO, Thomas, it’s NOT.” Alexander cut back, surprising Thomas on how serious his tone was. Thomas narrowly avoided another car changing lanes. 

“This is about Burr. This is about the Mafia.” he jabbed his finger at Thomas with every sentence, broiling with anger, “This isn’t about your ‘feelings’ and personal attachments anymore, buddy. Hate to burst your fucking bubble.” 

Thomas clenched his jaw so hard his teeth could shatter. He shook his head, livid. He’d had enough. He was done with Alexander for the last time. The last time. 

“I hate you.” he spat, so quiet it was almost silent. Alexander didn’t respond, so Thomas continued. 

“As soon as we get to headquarters I’m going to fight until Washington assigns you to someone else.” he spoke evenly, voice eerily calm.   
“I’m done with you. I never want you in my sight.” 

Alexander was staring at him through the rearview mirror, his eyes were almost as dark as Thomas’s now. The seriousness coming through, smoldering like coals in his irises.   
“And you think your weight with Washington has anything on mine?” Alexander sneered lowly, baring a canine. 

Thomas bared his teeth right back, “I do. And I believe, Agent Hamilton, that when time comes to assign agents to this mission, you’ll get the second best driver, whoever that may be.” 

Alexander smiled incredulously, shaking his head in awed wonder, “You’d be willing… to sit out of the most important mission in FBI history…” Alexander marveled, “To overthrow the Mafia’s leader… JUST to get away from me?” 

Thomas kept his eyes forward on the road, darkening beneath his sunglasses.   
“Gladly.” he growled slowly, enunciating his disgust with hostile clarity. 

Alexander snickered lightly, looking out the window and tut-tutting.   
“Thomas Jefferson. You may hate me,” He began, placing his head on his fist to gaze at the passing trees, “But I know you far too well to believe that lie.” 

Thomas’s knuckles whitened on the steering wheel, lips screwing up silently, “Your hunger for power, your need for control…” Alexander sighed to himself off with a light, contented chuckle.  
“Call me a sociopath, Jefferson. Call me…” The passenger met eyes with Thomas’s in the mirror, locking them, “Crazy.” he whispered. 

Another short spurt of adrenaline pumped through Thomas’s chest, making the hair on the back of his neck raise. Alexander twitched an eyebrow at the reaction.  
Thomas knew he knew. 

“You’re the one who’s gonna stop at nothing to have your name on this mission.”   
Thomas’s heart thudded in pure hatred, pure loathing. Alexander leaned back in his seat, placing his hands leisurely behind his head. 

“My name’s already on it.”


	3. Headquarters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for waiting and bearing with me! Don't worry! All the good stuff will be coming up soon, loves! I am so grateful to have you! 💗 :D

Thomas glided his palm around the wheel, navigating the car with ease and then slowing to a stop for the millionth time. They were now at the edge of Washington DC, the traffic heavy as cars vibrated beside them, engines running, a standstill on the warm, March day. Thomas wanted to bang his goddamn head against the dashboard. There was nothing, nothing in this world that he hated more than slow-moving. Traffic was the bane of his very existence. 

He had to remind himself that they were almost there. He could see nearly see the long, two-lane road through a plane of dead grass that lead seemingly to nowhere. Nowhere except a cracked parking lot, weeds coming up between the cement, and four dusty warehouses. 

But far more painful than the traffic was the uncomfortable, tense silence in the car. Thomas sat stiffly for the whole ride since their argument, refusing to look at Alexander through the rearview, refusing to let any guards down. With no radio on, it was uncomfortably quiet in there, and the only sound was Alexander tapping his nail over and over again on the door handle. 

The boy was leaned lazily back in his seat, no care for manners as he just tapped his stupid finger, begging, ASKING, for Thomas to say something. Alexander was far too arrogant to cut it out, and Thomas was far too cocky to give in. The egos couldn’t lose, and hence, the silence. 

Inch by inch, starting and stopping, Thomas got closer to the lane. God, he was so close, so close to getting the hell out of there. If this jackass in his fucking Chevy Silveratto would move up half a centimeter. 

All at once Thomas had lost his patience. With traffic, with Hamilton, with Chevys. Without even checking his mirrors, he veered off the road a bit and pulled around the idiot, bouncing up onto the bumpy, cracked lane. 

“Jackass…” Thomas whispered under his breath, enjoying his free reign and fucking flooring it, engine revving pitifully as if complaining. The lane was long; he was the only one on it. Why shouldn’t he satisfy his lust for speed? 

Alexander finally, finally caught his eyes in the rearview for a split second, twitching an eyebrow with a straight face. A million words in one arrogant movement; Alexander had a way at that. He could see exactly how much this small assignment irked him. How he hated being behind the wheel of a mediocre car… doing a mediocre job…  
He knew it all, and Thomas tore his eyes away, jaw clenching invisibly under his skin. Bastard. 

And finally, as if from heaven, a sound was sent to break the horrible silence. A horizontal line showed up on Thomas’s dashboard, replacing his speedometer. A voice spoke, slight British accent, and the line wavered in synch with the voice tones. 

“Agent Jefferson, I see you are arriving?”  
Thomas wanted to smash his head against the wheel. God save him on this cursed fucking day. 

“Yes, your eyes work, Mr. Seabury.” Thomas strained out through clenched teeth. Samuel Seabury was in charge of entrances and exits, with knowledge of everyone who goes in and out of Headquarters. And he was an asshole. 

“Do you have any idea what speed you are charging at?” Seabury questioned, pretty little accent already on Thomas’s thin-stretched nerves, “By God, man, slow yourself down.”   
“Which warehouse, Seabury?” 

The voice coughed; a little man daintily raising his chin could be almost vividly seen behind one’s eyes.   
“That’s Mr. Seabury to you, Agent Jefferson. And recite the daily code word, if you please.” 

Thomas heaved an exasperated sigh. Every day. Every fucking day with this man.  
“I really don’t, buddy. I’ve never been a spy, I’ve never shown up to work as a spy, so just let me the hell in.”  
“Language.”   
“Laisse-moi entrer, putain.” 

Seabury exclaimed in exasperation as Thomas skirted into the lot, gripping the wheel over and over again to turn a sharp corner. 

“Which warehouse?”  
“Code, Agent Jefferson.” 

Thomas rolled his head back, screwing up his lips in frustration that Seabury couldn’t see, he squeezed the wheel, venting his frustration for a few moments. He returned and forced a tight smile.   
“Nox terrorem.” Thomas strained out, “Satisfied?”   
“Warehouse three, if you please.” 

Thomas immediately terminated the tap-in as soon as he got the information, and turned them around another corner. God, he wanted to get that pratt fired. 

Alexander looked out the window, wide-eyed up at the place that hadn’t changed in the slightest in his absence. Just as rusty, just as broken-down. Looking too abandoned to be owned, but occupied enough to know not to enter and rob. The fading gray color was white-washed in some places and rusted in others. A smirk tugged the corner of his lips, something stirring within him now that they were close. 

There was a faded number three above the garage loading-dock entrance on the third warehouse. With a clanging of metal chains, the door opened noisily, banging into place and leaving only the echo into the dark, empty warehouse. 

Thomas licked his lips and pulled inside, wheels bumping over the small ramp one by one. He guided the SUV carefully to the center of the empty, eerie building, and stopped. He put the car in park and leaned back into his seat, waiting.  
There was no movement but a few birds, flapping and twittering in the eaves before falling silent once more. 

Alexander started tapping again; Thomas twitched his lip. 

And then there was nothing but noise, the mechanical sounds bouncing off the walls like a hurricane had begun within that vacant building. The sound continued as the floor jolted. And then again. But neither one lifted a finger, just sat boredly. 

The ground beneath them, a wide circle platform, began to descend. The floor around them looked like it was rising up as they themselves lowered, the warehouse gradually falling out of sight. 

Alexander cleared his throat, finally piping up.   
“Your secretary should be calling you right about now to take the car, don’t you think?” He pointed out, shifting his hips back into the seat, getting comfortable. Thomas’s shielded eyes flicked to the rearview, meeting Alexander’s. 

“I don’t have a desk job, why the hell would I have a secretary?” He spat harshly, not a hint of warmth coming through. Alexander shrugged.   
“Secretary. Assistant…” Alexander twitched a brow leisurely, “Intern.” 

How dare he. 

Thomas wanted to whirl around and split his jaw. He knew his implication. They both knew his dark implication; he was sick. Absolutely sick. But Thomas kept his composure.   
“I imagine that’s what you’re here for.” he snarled, making Alexander laugh.   
“Right, right.” he chuckled as they descended at a dizzying pace, “Out of prison and into a new one.” He jested, amused at the thought of himself working as an assistant to Thomas. Thomas didn’t laugh. 

Their speed slowed, making their guts feel heavy for a few moments. The ceiling of a car garage came into sight, clean and pristine, rows of identical black SUV’s gleaming in an organized fashion. With a clang and a hiss, the platform fit perfectly into the floor, locking into place. And everything fell still. 

Thomas sniffed and tucked his Ray-Bans into his pocket professionally. 

“Alright, Hamilton, listen up because I’m only going to say this once.” 

Alexander shrugged boredly, head on his fist. Thomas continued.   
“Handcuffs on. I don’t care if it’s just a formality with you; you put them on and you keep them on until I say so, got it?” Thomas turned around in his seat, facing Alexander who he knew would show visual distaste at the command. 

But Thomas’s stomach lurched instead, doing a double-take. 

He hadn’t seen all of Alexander, not yet. And now that he was dressed… shit.   
Thomas gave all of his willpower to not let anything on his face show as he saw Alexander like... THIS for the first time; it was like a whole year had just been erased, backspaced, deleted. His black tie knotted neatly against his crisp, white collar… His body outlined by the dashing yet dangerous suit. And somehow, somehow this kid had gotten his handcuffs on within the ten seconds Thomas wasn’t looking. Smartly dressed and handcuffed?… Shit. 

Did the Virginian even stand a chance?

Thomas pulled himself together. 

“Got it?” He growled once again, slowly. Alex gestured as much as he could with his caged wrists.   
“Obviously.” he scoffed. Thomas tensed but forced himself to relax. Don’t let him wrap you up in it, don’t let him trick you into it. 

“Brilliant.” Thomas sneered, curling a lip as he pushed the door open with his foot. A young boy in a suit, about Alexander’s age, approached the car and Thomas tossed him the keys, glinting once in the garage light before he narrowly caught them. 

Alexander somehow managed to open the door and stumble out, tripping.  
“Yeah, thanks a lot for the help, asshole.” He spat, hunched over and struggling to close the door with his shoulder. Their voices echoed.   
“My fucking pleasure.” Thomas grumbled under his breath, striding briskly towards the elevator. Alexander jogged after him. 

“You keep running away from me, I might be inclined to do the same.” Alexander caught up, sauntering next to him and trying to keep up with Thomas’s pace. Not easy when he’s twelve inches taller and five years older. 

Thomas sneered, amused, “Try, Alexander. Please do.” he asked, sounding like a genuine wish as they entered the elevator, filing into the modern, spacious little room, “Please give me an excuse to put a bullet through the back of your head.”   
“Like you even have the aim.” Alexander countered, snorting. Thomas punched a button that read ‘1’. 

“Care to test that theory?” The Virginian clapped right back.   
“Any time, pretty boy. You let me know.”   
“Don’t call me that.” Thomas snapped, as they ascended, gravity making them feel heavy from the quick ascension. Alexander just laughed him off carelessly. 

Thomas’s blood boiled silently; he was holding himself back, physically and mentally. That arrogance. That self-important air was going to bite that little fucker right in the ass one day. And Thomas hoped he was there to see it. 

They rose for a time in a blissful silence. 

Alexander sniffed, “So, to the HUB?” Ugh.   
“Does it look like we’re headed to the HUB?” Thomas shook his head irritably; the button that was lit up wasn’t ‘H’. Alexander’s face lit up with recognition; he nodded. 

“Ahh. Getting straight to business?”  
“Getting straight away from you.” Thomas growled lowly, done with conversing with him. He had been since the moment he picked him up from the penitentiary. 

He was taking him straight to Washington’s office in the Operations Department. The floors at Headquarters were labelled by the ones closest to the surface as the lower numbers with the exception of the HUB being labeled ‘H’.   
The HUB--Headquarters Unrestricted Base--was the center of activity, always buzzing and full of bustle. The Operations Department was right above, where heads of the different departments had their grand offices. The actual Departments were on varying levels, the private and company parking garages on the lowest, and the living quarters were a WHOLE other story. 

Thomas’s fingers twitched behind his back, tapping his knuckles. The elevator suddenly felt too small, too soundless. Was it hot in there? The numbers descended at the two of them rose up, stiflingly silent. 

Alexander was smart, though. And in the mood for hellraising. His good mood couldn’t possibly be ruined on this fateful day. 

He gave him a sideways glance and then, looked straight ahead once more.   
“You’re nervous, Jefferson.” He stated cooly, a thread of a smirk pulling at his lip, “Do I scare you?” He inquired softly.

Thomas shook his head in slow incredulity.   
“Why are you talking, Hamilton.” Thomas let only his lips move as he spoke, “Why the fuck are you even talking.” 

“You only tap your knuckles when you’re nervous, Jefferson.” Alexander shrugged relaxedly, “It’s okay, I understand why you’re afraid.” 

“I fear very few things, Alexander, and a handcuffed sociopath is not one of them.”

Alexander sighed again as the elevator slowed to a stop, dinging once to signify their arrival.   
“Again with the ‘sociopath’?” he spoke boredly. Thomas was long done. The elevator doors began to slide open. 

Thomas shook his head in exhaustion, “Just act like a normal person for ten minutes, Alexander. Do the world a favor.”   
Thomas stepped out and Alexander followed with a shrug, “We’ll see.” he responded naughtily. Such a fucking child; he would always be a child. 

They clicked out into the marble-floored hallways, symmetrical patterns like art from wall to wall. This hall split and curved both ways to form an out-of-sight circle. But at the front and center was Washington’s office; they need not go far.

The double doors rose high, arching over them like castle doors. The brass door handle itself had a hidden thumb pad embedded in it--this they both knew. 

“Take them off now. I’m not carrying them for you, so don’t think I will.” Thomas drawled, wrapping his hand around the cold handle and pulling. The door began to open on its own. 

Alexander sighed, stepped up next to Thomas, silver handcuffs dangling from one finger. He swung them around a couple times and looked up to Thomas, waggling his eyebrows.   
“Free access to Washington’s office, huh?” he straightened his suit cuffs.   
“Big shot now, aren’t you?” 

Thomas’s dark eyebrows twitched, unhappy with the tone Alexander was using with him.   
“Didn’t have to suck my way to the top, Hamilton.” He spoke in cool amusement whilst the double doors swung in. Alexander laughed lightly, smoothing back his long hair. 

“Oh no, of course not.” he grinned, “You just had to arrest the greatest sniper of all time.”   
“Humble are we?” Thomas questioned. Alexander flashed him a cunning smirk.   
“As always, Agent Jefferson.” 

Something in Thomas’s gut stirred. 

Washington’s office was as all the Department Executives’ were: domed ceiling and personalized. And George Washington, the Director of the FBI, had an office any eighteen-year-old would dream of. The whole place gleamed, neat, organized, pristine, as was he. Antique guns were on display, as well as portraits of past Directors and presidents. The entire back wall was a window that looked down on the hub, just like the rest of the offices. 

But the books and antiques were not all that made his office unique. Little contraptions and inventions clustered on shelves. Small drones whirred around in the domed ceiling, some just dwelling, some carrying messages to be read. A hint of fascinating, breathtaking childhood was evident in the professional room. 

And at the long, mahogany desk, the man himself looked up.   
George Washington. 

Alexander and Thomas stopped just inside the door as it swung closed behind them, plunging them into silence. George Washington was young-looking for a thirty-five-year-old, he had strong, chiseled jawline and cheekbones, piercing blue eyes, and blonde hair with the slightest wave. His kind brows were the softening factor of his face. 

Alexander grinned lightly, eyes meeting Washington’s for a brief moment. Old friend. Gut the Director just hummed, large knuckle to his lip. 

He looked at them, the two rivals for the first time in a long year. Those arctic eyes took the both of them in, standing next to each other. An authoritative air radiated from him, putting even Thomas into check. 

For a few moments, Thomas feared that he had done something wrong. 

And then a smile broke across his handsome face, leaning back into his tall chair. He gestured with open hands. 

“Alexander Hamilton in the flesh.” he spoke, grandiose voice resonating over them, “Now you weren’t going to walk into my Bereau without saying hello, were you?” he questioned in a friendly manner, standing with grace from his desk and inviting them with his eyes to come closer. 

Both boys stepped further into the room, approaching Washington. Thomas could find no words. He could find no words as Alexander flashed Thomas a cocky eyebrow twitch as he passed, shaking hands warmly with Washington. 

“Your excellency, sir.” Alexander smiled, raising his chin arrogantly to him, and George just chuckled, rounding back to his chair.   
“Come come, gentlemen. Do sit.” he gestured to two modern-style seats before his desk. 

Thomas grinded his jaw in silent fury as he sat down, Alexander shuffling in next to him. Thomas could clock him out right then and there; he wanted to so badly whilst Alexander leaned back and crossed his legs, smirking. 

“Washington knows how to greet me. You should take notes, Jefferson.” Alexander whispered out of the corner of his mouth, looking straight ahead at washington. Thomas’s eyes darkened and he dug his nails into the leather of the armchair. Ten more minutes.   
George settled in with a sigh, pulling his jacket over his waist and crossing his arms in satisfaction, nodding curtly at the two. 

“Agent Jefferson, well done. I’m glad to see all proceeded smoothly.”   
Thomas wanted to laugh out loud, but he contained himself cooly as always, “Very smoothly, your excellency. Not an issue.” 

He smiled tightly shooting a glinting glance at Alexander. George didn’t notice.   
“Very good, very good.” He nodded with another deep sigh. He couldn’t seem to stop looking at them up and down. 

The Director shook his head, “To see you boys side by side in my office again is very pleasing, very pleasing indeed.”   
Thomas dipped his head politely, “I wish I could say the same, your excellency.” he monotoned without emotion. 

The air in the room tensed slightly, and there was a hesitation. 

George laughed lightly, seriousness, however, embedded in his pale eyes. He leaned forward, placing his hands on the desk and rolling his chair towards the edge, closer to the agents.   
“Jefferson, Hamilton.” he began, looking them each in the eye, “I believe that at this time it is essential for both of you to be equally aware of my intentions of bringing Agent Hamilton back.” 

“Indeed.” Alexander agreed cunningly with a nod. He glanced at Thomas whilst he spoke, “I fail to receive proper current news when I’m collared to a chair for a year.” Thomas shook his head in the smallest movement, almost undetectable. But that was Alexander’s specialty. 

“Yes, Alexander. That is true.” George nodded to him and his face grew more serious, “It is also true that your major misconduct is the cause of your detainment, not Agent Jefferson’s actions.”   
Thomas’s heart literally soared at the words, and he could see Alexander’s sudden spike of angered humiliation. Alexander parted his lips as if to speak, but Washington silenced him with one hand. 

“And it is also true that by prosecuting you for that infraction, we have allowed the most dangerous mafia boss of all time to rise to power.” Alexander closed his lips slowly, letting them fall back into a contended smirk. Thomas’s elation evaporated, replaced by frustration once more. 

Washington carefully leaned back in his seat. Pointing up at the window behind him and an image faded into view, clear and wide on the glass. 

Alexander squinted, knuckle to his lips. The image depicted a man about Alexander’s age, nineteen, in grainy black and white rendering. It was a mugshot. George didn’t look over his shoulder, just watched the boys as they stared. 

“Burr. No first name, no last name, unless that is one. If it is a pseudonym, we have no way of telling.” he spoke matter of factly like a tired professor giving a lecture. The image faded into another one of the side of the man’s head. 

Thomas’s intelligent, calculative eyes scanned the image.   
“This mugshot method is outdated.” he observed, looking down to Washington, “These are old images.” 

Washington nodded.   
“Right you are. These mugshots are the only records that any Burr exists, and they are three years old. The only documentation of his existence.”   
“And how do we know that he does.” Alexander questioned, waving a few fingers lazily, “He could be a persona. A decoy.” he spoke hypothetically. 

“Yes.” George accepted, “But unfortunately not.” the image shifted to a poorly photographed crime scene outside of a warehouse, a white bag over a body “He was arrested for manslaughter. Three years ago, and that man was none other than James Armistead, one of our own agents who rose high in the mafia hierarchy before being discovered.” 

George nodded, “And shot point blank in the face in Philadelphia.” he specified. Thomas and Alexander’s eyes were locked on the image of the mugshot that had come back into view. The cold, dark eyes of the young man. Chills crept up Thomas's spine...

“He killed an FBI spy. For the first time. In a century. His talent was recognized and he himself arose, replacing Amistead.” George narrated, “And that is where you boys come in.” 

Charts faded into existence on the glass, numbers depicting the rise and growth of the mafia and the FBI, “As an organization, we reacted with exponential growth against this outrage. Recruiting more members of higher skill, expanding these headquarters to what they are now. Unfortunately, the mafia did the same.” 

“How could we know nothing of this man?” Alexander interjected rudely before Thomas could, speaking his exact thoughts. George nodded, a flicker in his eyes to warn about his tone.   
“The mugshots were thought to be destroyed before ever seen by our agents. Burr was rescued from the detainment he was held at within the first four hours by fellow mafia members.” 

Thomas whispered a breathy, “shit…” under his breath, but George continued.   
“We caught word of a new leader shortly after Alexander’s arrest.” Thomas shifted uncomfortably, as did Alex, “and we watched as the mafia’s dark grip slowly tighten around our country's neck.”

Alexander leaned back in his seat, waving the fingers again, “And in the meantime?” he inquired. Thomas’s lip twitched, knowing he was asking about what Thomas had been doing while Alex was chained to a chair, collared and muzzled like an animal. 

Washington pointed behind him at the glass, and the images disappeared, leaving just the transparent material.   
“Most of our efforts had been futile.” George spoke matter-of-factly, “With Agent Jefferson being the most valued driver, I tried to partner him with several other elite agents with superb shooting abilities.” 

The Director shrugged and Thomas could see something in Alexander’s eyes flicker. The man that was so controlled with his micro-expressions… and still, something in his light brown eyes wavered for just a moment…

“No pairing, despite the evident skill, has succeeded.” George lifted an expensive pen from the inside of his pocket, twirling it between two fingers.   
“And then our luck turned.” he sighed, sitting up straight with that impeccable posture. 

“Agent Elizabeth Schuyler, whom you both are well acquainted with, was on an unrestricted solo mission when she sent Headquarters,” George gestured behind him where the images had been, “These mugshots, with the message, ‘the new mafia leader, Burr’ and nothing else. There was no period, signifying that she was in a rush… or she was interrupted.” 

Alexander sniffed emotionlessly, “And where is she now.” He folded his hands on his lap.  
George’s face was as hard as marble, as tough as stones as his eyes darkened, “She has been missing for one week, three days, and twenty-two hours over her return date. The message cannot be tracked by anyone in our Tech Department. It has been terminated from the origin.” 

Thomas, of course, knew this information. It was Alexander who was hearing it for the first time. 

Anyone else’s face should be darkening with fear. Anyone else’s heart should be thumping against their ribs. But Alexander’s one-sided smirk tugged wider.   
“And so you need me again.” he stated plainly.

There was a silence as Washington crossed his arms, looking icily at the boy. Only nineteen and already playing a powerful part in this game. Thomas’s ebony eyes darted from Washington to Alexander and back. 

George slowly nodded, “We need…” 

And then his eyes turned to Thomas, “Both. Of you.” he finished slowly. 

And that was it. That was the manifestation of the pit of dread tugging at Thomas’s gut. His stomach lurched.

“Your excellency,” his deep voice rumbled, but George interrupted him.  
“You both must understand my plans going forward before you object, Agent Jefferson.” George spoke cooly, shutting Thomas up to let him stew in unbelieving lividness.  
Thomas inhaled deeply, ignoring Alexander’s long-haired head glancing at him across the chairs. Geoge’s desk before them slid out a panel to reveal a screen that remained white for the time being. 

George placed the pen over his lips and spoke again.  
“Agent Schuyler must be found. The mafia boss must be as well. And I am afraid that these two missions will come in close conjunction.” He enunciated eloquently. The Director paused, eyes piercing right into Thomas’s. 

“I understand your concerns, Agent Jefferson,” he spoke strictly, “but I would not have released Alexander with no charge. Let him walk off free if I intended to pair him with any mediocre driver…” 

He finished his sentence quietly and didn’t release either of their eyes. The office fell into a suspenseful hush as if the whole bureau had stopped to listen.  
Thomas was speechless. 

How… How could he have let himself fall into the trap? This wasn’t happening. 

But as a contract appeared on the screen… Thomas realized what it was for. Realized that it was happening. It was all quite real. And he was speechless. 

Washington cleared his throat and spoke again, “This mission will perhaps be the most critical one of the century.” he orated as Thomas and Alexander’s eyes both darted down the lines of the contract taking in everything it entailed. Holy fucking shit… the amount of freedoms and access they had within this document… 

Thomas looked out of the corner of his eye to see Alexander’s malicious grin, eating up every delicious line. The man was absolutely fucking sick. 

“I’m not putting any other agents' name on this contract. I am the Director of this bureau and I demand only the most elite for this assignment. I have selected the both of you--with a generous delegated time for training and preparation--to partake in this mission.” 

Washington pushed his pen across his desk with his fingertips. It didn’t feel real. It was like he was watching this happen to somebody else from outside the room.   
Thomas’s eyes scanned over the object, so beautiful and elegant. MOCKING him, daring him to pick it up. Thomas realized that Alexander’s cunning eyes were doing exactly the same. 

Alexander looked from it to Thomas, picking it daintily from the desk.   
“I would be honored, your excellency.” He twirled it in his small hand, letting it slap his palm with a satisfying ‘thwap’. 

“But I’m afraid I will have to decline.” Alexander sighed, and Thomas’s head immediately snapped up, looking at him with furrowed brows.  
What the fuck? 

But as soon as he read his features... he knew what he was doing. He knew exactly what he was doing. The boy tossed the pen to Thomas, who narrowly caught it with one hand and lightning reflexes. 

He smiled, eyes flashing, “Until Agent Jefferson signs first.” 

Thomas’s. Heart. Stopped.  
How… dare he. 

His eyes clouded with rage, and he gripped the pen as hard as he could, hearing a part of it crack from within. He and Alexander locked eyes, neither one backing down. The younger twitched a brow at him.   
And that was the final straw. Alexander had done it. Alexander had fucking crossed the line, crossed the goddamn line and done something he couldn’t undo.

Because now it was personal. Now, it was… very personal.

Thomas glanced down at the pen in his hand lifting it up towards the desk. His heart thudded with pure ferocity against his ribs, hatred flowing through his veins. The muscle in his jaw was visible as he grinded it, tapping the pen to the desk in one movement and scraping out his signature. 

Alexander watched, smirk spreading on his face.   
“The mafia is going straight to hell.” Thomas spat, tossing the pen rudely onto the desk and watching Alexander pick it up seamlessly, giving him one malicious sideways glance before placing his own sharp signature right below Thomas’s. It was signed. 

It was done.


	4. Provocative

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George and James go on an important date, while Alexander reunites with his closest friend, John Laurens. Alexander nudges him to help him with a plan surrounding Thomas. But after a... heated late-night encounter with Thomas in the elevator, his little plan is accelerated quicker than Alexander would have thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get ready for a LONG one (and some heat 😉)! Thank you as ALWAYS for reading, you all are so, SO appreciated! <3

James Madison checked his watch once again and swallowed. Setting his hand daintily back on the white-clothed table and linking his hands. Fifteen minutes now. 

His foot bounced unwittingly under the table as he glanced around the quiet restaurant, eyes skimming over the little tables and heads, faces lit warmly in the dim candlelight.  
Was he at the right place? James pulled his phone out and cranked down the brightness, checking the address as the waiter came by for the third time, asking if he’d like to see a wine list, but once again James waved him off, a little distraught. George wouldn’t stand him up… right? 

It felt like another hour before James finally caught sight of George Washington approaching, weaving through the tables. The piano player had finished a song and soft clapping spread across the restaurant before he picked up again. 

James blinked up as George pulled out his seat, smiling apologetically at his date.  
“I…” he sat down, scooting his chair in, “Am so sorry.” he sighed settling himself in and meeting James’s green eyes. James smiled weakly at him.  
“No trouble.” he shrugged. George shook his head lightly, reaching across the table to take his hand in his own. 

James’s heart skipped a beat. Two months and it still fluttered at the touch as if he'd been shocked. 

“No. I planned this date tonight; I was late. And so I apologize.” He raised his hand up and gentlemanly kissed his knuckles, and James’s heart was leaping all over the place again, melting like a teenager. He blushed uncontrollably.  
“What were you busy with?” he inquired out of curiosity, not naggy-ness. He trusted George. 

Washington’s face darkened almost undetectably as he unbuttoned his suit jacket.  
“As you know, Jefferson brought back Hamilton today.” 

Oh.  
This was about Hamilton.  
The light mood at the table quickly dissipated into seriousness, more tense at the name. James licked his lips. 

“Yes.”  
“And I had the meeting with them. Almost like a press conference, Hamilton didn’t know anything.”  
James exhaled, “Well,” he met George’s eyes, “The detainees have limited access to the news.”  
“I know.” he took James’s hand again, looking down at where they were connected. Something had been troubling him all evening, and he didn’t know if he should tell James. He went back and forth in his head, tongue not following along,  
“I kept him for a bit after the meeting concluded. To speak with him about his conduct... And… well I’m not sure that…” he struggled, trying to find the words. James was patient as George gradually found his eyes again. 

“I’m not sure that asylum time was… good for him.” 

A hush fell over the table. James’s spine prickled. 

The smaller man’s tongue suddenly felt dry, “... how so?” he asked slowly; this seemed to be disturbing George, a man not easily shaken by anything, which was concerning. He shifted his feet beneath the table.  
“The boy, as you are aware, has always had a touch of…” he searched for the word, “...malice. Which has served him well. But seeing him with Jefferson… I’m not sure.” 

“George.” James cut in calmly, squeezing his hand. The eyes that had been drifting around raised to his now, troubled.  
“What behaviors did you observe?” he inquired, the psychologist side of him coming out. 

George’s intelligent eyes pierced his own.  
“Any implication of danger and he… SMIRKS, James. I know he did it before, but it’s become unhidden.” he listed, words beginning to flow easily as they did when he was with James, an outpour of thoughts, “And Jefferson… Jefferson HATES him, James. He loathes him.” 

“And rightfully so…” James whispered darkly, eyes falling to their hands. A tense silence followed. George swallowed, knowing Randolph’s name was being unsaid in this conversation. At least for the moment. 

“Yes. Rightfully so.” George spoke evenly, squeezing back.  
“And yet, Hamilton mocks him. Dances around him with these little movements and glances and drives him mad, twisting Jefferson’s mind until he signed the contract.”

James was struck speechless for a moment, stomach plummeting coldly into his gut. It… couldn’t be. He looked side to side before leaning in and whispering, “He signed?”  
“Yes.” George responded in a hushed tone. James was obviously troubled, fiddling nervously with his hand. 

“He vowed to himself that he would never work with that boy again.”  
“Exactly my point.” George poked a pointer finger into the table, “The boy might not… I think he might not be completely healthy. Perhaps all that time alone… chained still in that room.” George forced out his point, giving up, “He’s SMARTER, James.” 

Madison wasn’t meeting his eyes, just staring down at the table, blinking in disbelief.  
“Alexander…" he whispered, feeling the creeping resentment tug at him, "Killed... Randolph." and it felt like the whole world fell silent in shock. The name was hardly ever spoken, and wasn't meant to be uttered in regular conversation. 

“Thomas would never agree to this.” James continued, shaking his head, lips parted, “Never.”  
“And yet he did.” George marvelled, scooting his chair even closer before whispering his next words.  
“They’re calling him--Alexander, that is--” George licked his lips and exhaled, “Eight Shot.” 

James’s breath hitched in his throat.  
“They wouldn’t dare…” James gaped, this bit of news shocking him the most, “This… That is…” James blinked, face screwing up in utter disgust, “Heinous.” he spat the word. 

George hardly had time to react before a voice above them coughed slightly, making the men sit up in their chairs, jolted back to where they truly were. The waiter stood above them, classy menus in hand. 

George and James forced smiles and took them, picking out a bottle of wine distractedly and watching as the waiter drifted off again through the tables. The piano playing reached their ears, soothing them, and all of a sudden George felt terrible. 

James’s head turned back to him to see his sympathetic eyes looking him up and down and furrowed his brows, puzzled.  
“What is it?” He asked curiously. George shook his head. 

“Let’s…” he found James’s hand for the third time, interlacing their fingers warmly, “Let’s not talk about work for tonight, alright?” he laughed nervously,  
“I’ve already started things off on the wrong foot.”  
“Oh George…” 

“No, no. It’s alright.” George laughed more warmly this time, finding those gentle eyes, and smiling into them. As soon as he saw the look in those eyes, he regained the confidence that he had been needing for tonight. He was never nervous, never emotional. But James had him all over the place. He could usually hide it but...

“In fact, I had something else in mind to discuss tonight, actually.” He grinned softly, stroking a thumb rhythmically over the smooth back of James’s hand, the younger’s eyes darting there and back to him, blushing again.  
“Of course. And what would that be?” he tried to shrug as if he wasn’t affected and failed miserably. George coughed, trying to find that stony resilience that was natural to him, but it felt long gone. It was hopeless. All he could do was just get it out. 

He cleared his throat, “Well, we’ve been going on dates for two months now.” he began firmly. This was right; he could do this, “Regularly.” he added with another cough.  
“And I think things are going really well, don’t you?” 

“I do.” James nodded a little too quickly, face blazing red now. Thank God the light was low, because his heart was pattering and he was already hardly able to breathe.  
George nodded, relieved, “I do as well.”  
“You already said that.”  
“Right.” 

They both looked at their laps for a moment. Jesus, you’d think they were middle schoolers asking each other to the school dance. George realized he had to pull his shit together, and began again. 

“And can we both agree that the sexual aspect has been more than satisfactory?”  
“Definitely more than satisfactory.” James laughed; at least the two could be mature about that. They glanced at each other over the candlelight and smiled bashfully. 

George sniffed, pulling them back on track.  
“James, I believe that if things have been so consistent… and so consistently good to be precise,” James nodded along with his words, heart rate speeding up with every syllable. He began to understand where this was going, and his chest was fluttering. Could it be...?

George squeezed his hand, making him look up into his eyes in that moment.  
“That perhaps you would like... to be my boyfriend.” He spoke calmly, finally finding his composure. 

There it was. James, fought not to whoop like a teenage boy, and the urge surprised him. He was a collected, dryly sarcastic man, and this feeling was unlike him. It filled him up nevertheless. George continued, not finished yet.

“I don’t know how you feel about being exclusive. But I am ready to take that step as soon as you are.” he fell back into his usual cool temper, glad for it too, “I find myself unattracted to anyone else save for you, Mr. Madison, and I don’t know how much longer I can go on without having you as my own.” He smiled charmingly at the man. 

James wanted to contain himself, but just ended up nodding like an idiot.  
“I would.” he blurted out, immediately realizing how loud it was and coughing to cover it up. He took a deep breath and straightened himself up. Be cool and relax. 

He cleared his throat, “I would be ready to take that step.” he rephrased tranquilly, meeting George’s eyes and nodding clearly. A smile spread across George’s chiseled face, so bright it was practically illuminating the entire restaurant. It was so candid, so uncensored and helpless that it was contagious, and soon James was smiling too, finding his other hand and lacing their fingers. 

George looked around and then back to James as if about to whisper a scandalous secret.  
“I have to say, I’m usually quite sensible,” George breathed through a few helpless laughs of joy, “But I have the strong, inexplicable urge to check out the new hotel downtown.” He pulled his hands closer into his, making James smile and blush way harder than he already was. 

“Oh, I’ve heard it’s wonderful. Truly top-notch. We can't leave it for another time when we're so close right now.”  
“Most definitely not.” George agreed, playing along with their little act, “That would be a mistake.”  
“Certainly.” James responded, standing up to mirror what George was doing. This was thrilling. Nobody had ever made him want to do something like this: walk out of a restaurant without eating to have sex at the nearest hotel. Granted this hotel was a five-star French brand with ‘penthouse’ as one of the options, but still.

He looked up into George’s eyes and his heart was pounding, stealing the breath from his chest. And all at once he forgot about this war, forgot about Hamilton’s unnatural tendencies. George smiled, back, offering him a hand.  
“Shall we?” he questioned. 

James placed his smaller hand within George’s intertwining their fingers. He blushed modestly.  
"And shall you accompany me to the Anniversary Ball at the bureau tomorrow?" He inquired, a bit unsure about this one, "I know that my request is far too late."  
“You don’t have to ask me twice.” James responded with a bashfully happy grin. 

**

Alexander sniffed, setting his cheap beer back down on the couch arm, licking his lips and rotating the bottle to check the brand.  
“Laurens, what the fuck is this?” He curled his lip, trying to make it out in the dark light.  
“Budweiser.” Laurens called from somewhere in the kitchen where he was getting his own. Alexander smacked his lips, taking another sip. 

“It sucks.” Alexander swallowed again, “I like it.”  
“Knew you would.” Lauren's muffled voice sounded, head in the fridge. 

Alexander just sat in the silence, sipping on his bitter beer like there was nothing sweeter. Laurens weaved into the cramped space, juggling two shot glasses and a clear bottle. 

“‘S that?” Alexander slurred slightly around the bottleneck, putting his arm on the couch arm again. Laurens sat down next to him, old couch cushions dipping in as he set down the shot glasses and started pouring. 

“Straight fucking Vodka.”  
“Sweet.” 

Alexander leaned forward with a huff and took the one he was pouring and tilted it back, nearly HACKING at the flavor as soon as it scalded his throat. He barely got it down.  
“Shit…” he breathed, shaking his head slightly, eyes watering and burning as Laurens did his own with more grace.  
“Lightweight…” John mumbled playfully and Alex elbowed him sharply in the ribs. 

“Don’t get much practice in the slammer.”  
“Or sex.” John added, washing down his shot with his own beer. He licked his lips and looked over at Alexander, smirking, regarding him for a few moments. John Laurens was twenty-two, a brunette and with a naturally playful disposition. He sat now as Alexander did, tie loose and collar unbuttoned, suit jackets hung by the door. “How’d you do it? With a satanic sex drive like yours?”  
“Oh it wasn’t hard.”  
“Really?”  
“Yep.” Alexander sipped again, struggling against the bitter taste, “But I hate doing things myself when someone else could do it for me.”  
“Classic,” John burst out a small laugh, placing his feet up one by one on the low table. Alexander poured himself another shot. This one went down easier. 

He still blinked away the burning. John had pulled out his phone, flicking through spotify as he turned on his old-fashioned bluetooth speaker with a lazy foot.  
“Song?”  
Alexander finished a sip, smacking his lips with a sniff, “Dark Knight Dummo. Trippie Redd.” he decided. John frowned and nodded, good choice. He played it; the base was fairly good and that’s all that really mattered. The two settled back against the couch leisurely.

Alexander rarely got the opportunity to be anything but classy, and he appreciated it. John had been his recruiting agent, keeping tabs on him for a year as an undercover schoolmate before approaching him on the Department head’s approval. But even as classmates, the two became inseparable friends, impossibly comfortable with one another. 

“So. Whaddya wanna do?” John sniffed, crossing his legs on top of the table, “Got a new flatscreen, we could watch some porn.” 

Alexander grinned against his bottle of beer.  
“You know porn doesn't do shit for me.” Alex laughed arrogantly, tossing his long hair back. John took another sip and shrugged.  
“We could screw.” 

Alex laughed once, amused, “You know your vanilla missionary doesn’t do shit for me either, Johnny boy.” He sneered tauntingly. It was John’s turn to laugh.  
“Whatever, man, not my fault you need to get hit by a car and punched in the face to cum.” 

Alexander snorted sarcastically, some alcohol going up his nose and his breath hitched before he choked comically. John burst out laughing and couldn’t stop until Alexander had punched him in the arm; even then he took some time to wind down. 

John let out a high-pitched sigh, settling back down into the couch comfortably. The song played on. There was no doubt that he’d missed his buddy after all that time, no doubt. This kind of thing was missed when he was gone. And yet there was something different, some sort of added factor that made him unwittingly wary; he didn’t even comprehend that he was. Alexander hadn’t been on vacation or on a mission. He had been in an asylum. Could he just brush that off? 

Alexander leaned forward with a stiff sigh, placing his empty bottle on the table with a clink. He leaned back with a deep, satisfied inhale, smacking his hands on his knees. He tuned his face to John, “So, wanna fuck?” 

John shrugged casually placing his own empty beer on top of the bluetooth speaker, “Sure. Thought you didn’t wanna though.” he recalled, watching Alexander stand, undoing his tie in the dark.  
“Eh. I’ll just close my eyes and pretend that you’re someone moderately attractive.”  
John let out a snort and kicked off his shoes, bending over to pick them up.  
“One minute.”he sniffed, stepping over Alex, who was unbuttoning his shirt, and disappeared into his room. 

Alexander had something in mind, and getting a direly needed itch scratched was not it. He shrugged off his shirt and kicked off his shoes next, leaving them on the floor. He knew that his needs couldn’t be met by his friend, of course not; his needs could hardly be met by anyone... except-

“Here.” John leaned out of his room and tossed him a half-empty bottle of lube across the room, flipping once in the air and landing was a satisfying ‘smack’ in Alexander’s hand. Alex tossed it once in the air and uncapped it with a pop, squeezing a generous amount onto two fingers. 

“Fruity.” he noted, watching John duck back into his room.  
“Don’t use up all my shit, Alex or you’re buying me more.” his muffled voice chuckled from inside his room. Alex ignored him and squeezed out some more, slicking it over his fingers.  
“No promises. Not like you get a lot of action anyway." 

Alexander spread his legs, setting his feet on the coffee table and shuffling down into position. Did he even remember how to do this? It felt like five years, not one, as he slid his slick to fingers inside himself, feeling the astounding tightness, the familiar sting. At least he didn't have to worry about his friend being gentle; he'd be as soft as a lamb. Unfortunately. 

John padded back out across the carpeted floor, barefoot now and naked. His friend had grown up a bit since he last saw him, but he was generally the same—same short, strong stature. He was only two inches taller than Alexander, so he was definitely classified as short. John walked by him into the half-kitchen again. 

“The fuck you looking for?” Alexander huffed, still trying to open himself up. It wasn't going too well so he added a third finger, biting his lip and trying to sustain and savor the pain for as long as possible before it faded.  
“Condom.” he mumbled, opening a couple drawers, silverware clinking. Alexander rolled his head back in annoyance, curling his fingers. He was used to getting what he wanted. When he wanted it. And right now protected vanilla sex was going to put him to sleep. 

“Really?” he sighed.  
There was a sound of crinkling and plastic tearing, then the sliding of the trash can back into place.  
“Really. I don't want your herpes or whatever the hell you probably have.”  
“Ha.” Alexander laughed, shaking his head lightly and sitting back up, thinking he'd probably stretched out well enough and KNOWING that he didn't have herpes. Or any STD for that matter. 

John walked back around to the small living room, stopping behind the couch with a sniff as he gave himself a couple of strokes. He was a fair seven inches, but that wouldn't hurt Alex like he wanted. Alexander sighed and flipped onto his belly wiggling to get comfortable on the sagging couch. 

John wedged himself onto the couch too on his knees, cramming one between Alex's leg and the couch-back with difficulty; he grunted.  
“We could do this in my bed, you know.”  
“Yeah, but then its not helping a brother out; it's just weird.”  
“Your call.” John shrugged indifferently, shuffling down until he was in position, a hand holding him up on either side of Alexander. He pressed his warm head to Alexander's entrance, waiting for permission. 

This guy. This fucking guy. Alexander was considering just up and leaving. 

“Laurens I swear to God, if you're waiting for permission...”  
“I'm being polite.” Alexander rolled his eyes with a scoff, that signature flare of anger shooting through him. He couldn't stop it; it just happened.  
“I'm going to fucking kill you.” He mumbled, folding his arms on the cushion and placing his chin on his hands. 

And Laurens actually hesitated... and for longer than Alexander thought natural. The music stopped as it faded into another song, adding to the uncomfortable pause. 

His brows furrowed and he twisted his head around awkwardly over his shoulder.  
“What?” He sneered, confused; he could barely see John in the low light, but he could see his eyes. They glinted with something Alexander knew well. Something Alexander could SMELL on him.  
He was afraid. 

“Bro... I'm kidding.” He laughed uncomfortably, shaking his head. John brushed it off with a shrug.  
“I know.” he covered up defensively, pressing harder against his friend. Alex placed his chin back on his hands, not yet over what had just happened.  
“You have permission to fuck me, alright? Happy?”  
John snorted, the two of them trying to recover quickly from that lingering moment, the thought still in the back of John's mind. Was he... scared of him? 

John pushed the tip in to shake off the moment, listening to Alexander hiss and smile against the cushions. Alexander tried to hold onto the pain, suspending it for the whole time John pushed into him. It still wasn't enough, and if it wasn't in the first thrust, it wouldn't be for the rest of the time. So instead, he just chilled out down there, keeping his mind set on what he was planning to ask. 

“So John, you're my best friend right?” he finally spoke.  
“Mhm.” John mumbled, rolling his hips back out and then pushing back in, slowly again, getting a feel for the tightness, “Why?”  
“And I'm doing you a favor right now.”  
“Wow, thanks. Glad you're feeling no pleasure from this whatsoever.” 

Alex just put his head down and let out a breathy laugh, rolling his own hips back to match with Johns, their warm skin pressing against one another. Even if it wasn't anywhere close to his style, feeling someone moving inside of him was a sorely-missed feeling. 

“Yeah. Anyway, I want you to do something for me.”  
John heaved an exhausted sigh, rolling his head back a bit and closing his eyes in prayer, “Please don't ask me to shove a cucumber in your ass or some weird shit.”  
Alexander scoffed, “Uh, wasn't planning on it. But thanks anyway.” John laughed, settling into a steady motion, sliding in and out of Alexander's tight walls, pressing deeply each time. 

Alexander cleared his throat once again.  
“No, I was going to ask you a favor.” John shifted a bit, moving his leg against Alexander's into a better position.  
“Yeah?” He asked him to go on. Alexander rolled his hips back into John again, ass against his belly. 

“Well,” Alexander began beginning to feel that adrenaline just pricking slightly in his chest. Thinking about it.  
“I'm not supposed to say anything about the matter until the contract becomes official in two days when I'm entered back into the system. But Jefferson and I signed. We're taking the assignment.” 

John stopped his movement, still halfway inside him, dick throbbing against Alexander's walls. Alex twisted around again to see John gaping.  
“He signed?”  
“Yeah. I mean I may have...” Alexander smirked shrugging lightly, “Persuaded him by psychological means.”  
“Shit, man.” John sniffed, shaking his head in bewilderment as he restarted his motion, rocking them both a little more quickly, “Didn't see that coming.”  
“I did.” Alexander's lip twitched into a smirk as he settled back down with a sigh, shuffling his shoulders. 

“Anyway, the guy hates me, and I'm finding him a little intolerable too. Ever met him?”  
“No.”  
“Well lucky you.” Alex mumbled, “He's an arrogant, self-important asshole. Too much money for what he's worth. If my personal possessions weren’t confiscated till I’m in the system, I’d have already scattered his guts with my AR-15 ”

“Sounds like your type.” John sniffed, moving his legs forward another time to get into better position, “You two ever fuck?”  
“No.” Alexander shrugged, “And actually, that's where your favor comes in, my friend.” John didn't respond, waiting curiously for Alexander to go on. Now THIS was going to get interesting...  
“Oh?”

Alex’s wheels turned as he thought of a way to phrase this, “I have very specific needs that must be met, Laurens.”  
“I'd say.”  
“And I need them to be dealt with.” 

John reached over them both, laying flat on Alex's warm back to grab his phone and change the song, sitting back up in a moment.  
“Yeah.”  
“So. Naturally, I need you to pretend to be my date during the annual anniversary ball tomorrow.” 

John thrusted short and quick, at least giving Alexander a little friction to sit on.  
“What the fuck, dude?”  
“Oh shut up, I don't want to date you.”  
“Yeah, but like why do this?” He shook his head, “I don't get it.” Alexander rolled his eyes, feeling John's friction deep inside of him. Missing his prostate, but still. 

“Trust me.” he mumbled muffledly into his arms turning his head to lay on its side now, chin a bit sore. “I've got two days before Jefferson and I officially start training for this mission, and lucky us, the ball falls right on the first day.”  
“Lucky YOU.” John grumbled, gripping the cushion with his nails to get some more leverage. He pounded deeper, but not POUNDING, per se. Just thrusting so considerately that Alexander wanted to yawn. 

“Yes, lucky me. That I have such a great friend who is going to say, 'of course, Alexander. No problem, Alexander.'” he mimicked John's deeper voice. The larger man made a noise halfway between a laugh and a scoff. 

“I mean sure, I'll pretend that I like your dumbass for a night; not a big deal.” He agreed, “Still don't get what this has to do with Jefferson.” He grumbled.

Alexander sighed a melodic, high-pitched sigh, placing his chin daintily on his hands once again, as if daydreaming. But the look on his face in the dark was devilish and dirty. His signature left-side smirk pulled at the corner of his lips, his face darkening with mischief. 

“Everything, Laurens. Everything.” He spoke lowly. 

**

Thomas looked up, head snapping away from his chest with a gasp. His eyes darted around wildly, lips parted in confusion. His heart was pattering against his ribs as he heaved in ragged breaths. He felt a drop of sweat slide uncomfortably down his spine, cold, wet. 

His head rolled up and around, taking in his surroundings with an inexplicable sort of panic.  
Rooms.

All he could see were rooms, empty, no doors, just segmented rooms for as far as the eye could see. A chill crept up his spine. What is this place...? 

The maddening buzz of fluorescent lights was all that could be heard in the muffled silence. Thomas swallowed, throat impossibly dry against his tongue as adrenaline pumped through his veins. His chest heaved against the front of his suit, and his tie felt like a fraying noose. 

He was kneeling.  
As soon as he realized this, the man rose to his feet silently, careful not to make any noise or sudden movements. He slowly turned around. There were nothing but walls forever and ever... nothing but blinking, whirring fluorescent lights in the paneled ceilings. Where... how did he know this place...? 

And then a scream penetrated the silence, high pitched, piercing, positively throat-shredding.  
Thomas's stomach lurched and his chest nearly exploded with adrenaline. He jumped out of his skin, hand immediately fumbling inside his jacket for his gun. Heart whamming, he yelped in surprise and leapt back when all he pulled out of his suit was... sand. Dry, finely dusted sand. It showered to the floor uselessly. 

“Wh-” Thomas sputtered, but he was interrupted by another scream. But this time, there were words.  
“Thomas!” The voice called. 

Thomas's heart stopped. His breath hitched in his chest. 

For a moment, the world stopped spinning. 

And he was running, stumbling over his feet and sprinting to the next room, chest pounding painfully. He gasped, skidding and stopping himself with a hand on a wall.  
“RANDOLPH.” he roared, whipping his head back and forth, hair falling wildly in front of his eyes.  
“Thomas!” The voice wailed. 

Another pang of adrenaline cut through his gut. Where... Where WAS it!? He jumped back into action, careening into the next room, and then the next. All he could hear was his own breath, like it was in his head. He could feel the buzzing as if it were inside him. 

And then the cocking of a pistol and the thud of someone falling to the floor.  
“NO!” Thomas roared, another overpowering surge of pure terror slamming into him. He tore through the randomly segmented rooms again and again. He was running out of time; he was running out of time...!

And then there was a gunshot. 

Clean, clear, and pristine, a ringing bang. Thomas stopped. He suddenly couldn't move. His feet were stuck to the ground. No...  
There was another shot, and then another. And five more. 

Eight.

Eight ringing shots.  
Thomas's teeth clenched, his eyes squeezed shut as he was forced to listen. To hear it. And all at once the fury, the anguish, the ferocity swelled inside of him until it was overpowering, until it was all-consuming. 

“RANDOLPH!” he roared, throat shredding. 

And then he woke up, jolting up to sit in his bed. The segmented rooms and torturous monotony of walls all fell away at once, vaporizing into the depths of his mind, replaced by the familiar open-plan apartment. Thomas gripped the sheets, balling them up desperately in his hands as he leaned forward, head down. His body racked with heaving, labored breaths, ragged and uneven.  
For a long time he stayed that way in the darkness of his own room. He was fine. He was at Headquarters. He was fine...  
His whole body was damp with sweat, cold and clammy as his heart rate slowly... slowly decelerated, finding its way back to normal. It only took five minutes this time. Thomas finally sniffed, running a shaky hand through his sweaty hair, smoothing it back; he rubbed both hands over his face, exhaling as he felt the beads of sweat. 

And it all just kind of hit him all at once. How could he do this? How had he agreed to this mission?  
How could Alexander still manipulate him, intrigue him after... after everything? How could he let it happen?

Thomas pulled his thick, satin covers aside, exposing his legs and swinging them out of bed one by one. With a huff, he rose stiffly from the sheets, bare feet padding on the cold, hardwood floors, awakening him even more, shaking off the clinging horror of the dream. 

His apartment was very near the top of the massive cone-shaped living quarters at HQ. All underground, all of the windows were hyper-realistic renderings on smooth glass screens. And they could be changed. Right now, Thomas had them set to mimic the quiet night skyline of Washington DC. 

His silhouette was faintly framed against the stars as he walked by, rubbing the back of his neck, padding to his walk-in closet. In the warm, dim lights, he selected one of his twelve identical work-suits, hanging in a row. He dressed with precision, knowing exactly where he was going. Exactly what he was going to do. It wouldn't be the first time; that was for sure. 

With one puff of his signature Yves Saint Laurent perfume, he straightened his cuffs curtly and tucked his glock into his pant pocket. Habit.  
He clicked across his floor once more in the dark, crossing out into the main living area. The windows there were all depicting a clear night on Cape Cod, radiating the feeling of humid, salty dunes. Not pausing to take a breath, Thomas strode by and out the door, letting it close with a quiet click. 

The elaborate, domed hallway was wide, personalized doors on either side of other agents and bureau members. His eyes fell on a familiar one as he passed; Thomas would knock for James, but he hadn't responded to any texts that evening. Not to mention it was midnight. 

Instead Thomas proceeded solo towards the elevator, already tapping on his phone to have his car sent to the track. His real car. Nothing would clear his head better than two-hundred fifty miles an hour. He pressed the button and sniffed, pulling out his phone again to check the time as the elevator dinged to announce its presence. Great, 12:30 AM he sneered in his head whilst the doors slid open silently. 

Head still down, he stepped into the space and turned around, clicking his power button and tucking his phone back into his pocket. But by the time he had lifted his head again, it was too late. The doors slid closed with a “ding”. 

And it was just him. And Alexander Hamilton. Alone. 

Holy fucking shit.  
Thomas's stomach lurched unexpectedly, and he let nothing show on his marble face. He swallowed—his mistake.  
How was this even a possibility? A thousand elevators. A thousand fucking elevators at headquarters and they happened to be on the same one at the same time in the middle of the night. 

“Hey.” the boy was leaning up against the far wall, ankles crossed. He folded his arms across his chest, “How're you?” he lifted his chin.  
Thomas would hide it; he would sneer and turn his cheek in disgust, but what he saw... He gaped. 

Something deep within his gut stirred just slightly. Something... primal.

Alexander's suit was thrown over his young frame, unbuttoned, and his shirt was untucked. His collar was open and his tie hung, undone below his collarbones. His long, usually smooth, sleek hair was tousled as if he had just lifted himself up from a squabble.  
Alexander uncrossed his ankles, shifting a bit. Thomas's eyes darted from his feet back to his face knowingly. He flicked a brow. 

So he hadn't planned on being seen like this? His lips twitched.

“Where have you been, Hamilton?” he drawled lowly, skipping all the pleasantries and keeping his voice void of any distinguishing emotion quite yet. He'd let Alexander's reaction's guide his actions. Alexander's jaw muscles showed for a split second as he ground his back teeth, eyes hard and withholding. 

“Not your problem, Jefferson.” he spoke with a casual shrug, finding his usual arrogant air, looking like he was going to sneer back another rude remark, but Thomas cut in. He wasn't quite sure where his words were coming from... but he had this tug, this flare seeing Alexander so shamelessly disheveled; he was a fucking disgrace. He could feel his temper raising, his blood beginning to coarse hotly through his veins... and he couldn't describe WHY. 

“Oh no, actually, I think that IS my problem, Alexander.” he sneered rudely, removed his hands from his pocket, standing up straighter. Alexander watched, eyes sweeping him up and down, calculating his every move, analyzing at a million miles per second. Thomas's eyes flashed. 

But Alexander didn't cower; he didn't mumble something rude yet inaudible and then punch a number on the panel. He... darkened, brows pulling in, lips parting to speak. His eyes flickered just like Thomas's had.

A challenge had begun.

A competition. A standoff. They could both feel it beginning to brew in that tiny room.  
Thomas's heart sped up.

“And why is that?” Alexander flicked a provocative brow at him. Thomas held his ground and bared his teeth in cold warning.  
“As I recall, we both signed that fucking contract.”  
“I'd say, buddy.” Alexander sneered, tossing his head. Thomas's hand twitched at his side and Alexander saw the tiny movement. The smaller one raised his brows at the action, feeling the trouble exponentially brewing. 

“Don't... call. me. that.” Thomas dictated in a cool, slow tone, as if he were giving a child its final warning, “I'm going to ask you one more time, Alexander.” he nodded, feeling this odd sense of calm, collected control take him over, take over his words. 

Alex simply laughed blatantly at him, not hiding anything, “Why should I have to tell you diddly-shit, dad?” Alexander scoffed incredulously, gesturing at Thomas with a hand. The taller just waited for him to finish, slowly folding his hands behind his back, head cocked unmovingly in the air. He looked down on Alexander and curled a lip. 

“Paired Agents keep tabs for safety reasons, dipshit. Thought you knew that when you... how did you put it?” Thomas scoffed lightly through his nose, looking cunningly down on Alexander. The boys eyes wavered for a moment, something he rarely ever did. And Thomas devoured the chance, snagging onto it and exposing it.  
“Wouldn't sign unless Agent Jefferson signs first?” Thomas spoke smoothly evenly, letting another condescending laugh follow.  
“Give me a reason why I shouldn't watch you like a hawk.” 

Alexander scoffed in disbelief opening his arms and leaning back into the elevator wall. He shook his head,  
“What the hell's your problem, jackass?” He spat, giving a high, smile-less laugh, “You know what, pretty-boy, you need to get the fuck over yourself. I haven't done jack shit so you can piss off, please and thank you.” 

And that was it. 

Thomas had finally... FINALLY hit his capacity. Finally had enough after twenty-four hours of holding himself back from the bastard, from the moment he had stepped in that vault. Now, he snapped, ready to go all out on the conniving little shit. He was so... ARROGANT. He was so privileged, the way he just WALKED around looking like a disgraceful slut, the way he just gets out of prison for free because God knows why, and nobody questions it but Thomas. Thomas was sick of it; everything about him made him want to rip him to shreds. And he was done. 

All at once Thomas surged forward with one huge stride, clearing the entire elevator in one step. Teeth bared to show sharp canines, lip curled in a sneer, a growl tore from his throat as he lunged at Alexander, careening towards him. 

For a moment, all he could see were the whites of Alexander's eyes before they collided with a reverberating 'wham!” against the wall, rattling their teeth. Thomas expertly shoved his knee up between Alexander's immobilizing him, and wrapped one large, powerful hand, grabbing Alexander's throat, holding it up at an uncomfortable angle. The smaller man's own hands shot up to grab at Thomas's forearm holding fast to his wrist, digging in his sharp nails past the suit cuffs. 

And then they were still.  
The only sound was their panting, both waiting to make their next move. The hurricane settled into a stiflingly intense silence, air vibrating with tension. Alexander jerked in tiny movements, trying to feel his way towards an advantage over Thomas, but the man held him so skillfully that it seemed futile. A rarity. 

They stared point-blank at each other; their eyes simmered with scalding waves of hatred, so pure and naked that it was hard to keep looking at. It was pure VENOM. And yet, brown eyes wouldn't break, wouldn't falter. They were far too arrogant for that. Neither was going to give up their position of power. 

Alexander swallowed against Thomas's dangerously placed hand, straining to keep staring at him as Thomas pressed his throat against the wall, forcing him to look up at a painfully uncomfortable angle. In turn, Alexander pressed those nails deeper into Thomas's flesh, breathing hard, seething breaths through his nose, lips screwed up in hatred as he jerked once again against Thomas with tiny grunts. 

Thomas was calmer. He was always calmer when he knew he had the upper hand, and looking the bastard up and down, helpless, floundering with his throat pressed against the elevator wall, completely under his control, he hardly even needed to unleash his wrathful temper. Alexander was another story. 

He gritted his teeth, trying to shake his head as he burned into Thomas's dark eyes.  
“Get off.” He spat with positive wrath, “I'll break your fucking arm, Jefferson.” He grew angrier at the taunting glint in Thomas's eye, “Don't think I won't do it.” 

“Oh. Really?” Thomas inquired, lips parted as he pressed Alexander's delicate throat even harder, ghosting his own nails over the bones in the back of his neck: a light threat. Alex struggled not to shiver at the feeling.  
“Yes, really, you bastard.” Alexander snarled, trying to jerk again, but Thomas held him firmly in place until Alex gave up moving, focusing on his arm once again. The smaller one glowered right into Thomas's eyes and slowly pressed one hand up on the wrist and the other one down, letting Thomas feel the slight, dangerous pressure. 

Thomas's eyes flickered from Alexander's to his arm and back. Alex twitched an eyebrow.  
“These walls are thick, Jefferson. No one would even hear you scream.” he applied more pressure, reveling in Thomas's micro-expressions of slight panic. He smiled and shrugged lightly, “Or me laughing.” 

Thomas screwed up his lips.  
“You sick fuck.” he spat in his face, drawing closer to him in a surge of outrage. He pressed his body to Alexander's holding him against the wall and gouging his nails into Alexander's soft, delicate throat, making him hiss a sharp inhale through clenched teeth. They stayed there, both hearts lurching. 

For a moment the world froze and fell silent.  
There was a hush for one beat. Two. Three. Alexander's lips twitched into a smirk. 

Thomas could feel Alexander's heart racing against his own chest. Was it fear or...?  
What else could it be? 

Thomas slowly, undetectably reached into his pocket, a motion that Alexander couldn't possibly see with Thomas's controlling hand so strong on his neck.  
“You won't break my arm, Alexander.” he spoke cooly, letting his hand fall into the custom impressions of the grip. Those dark, stormy eyes never left Alexander's as he slowly... slowly slid the gun out of his pocket. The smaller man squirmed a bit at the feeling of the nails pricking into his soft skin, mouth opening and closing once to try and pull air into his lungs.

Thomas was gradually, incrementally restricting air to his windpipe. And the power was delicious. 

“No...” Thomas shook his head lightly, gently brushing aside the flap of his already unbuttoned suit jacket with the muzzle of the gun, letting the fabric rest behind his hip. Alexander felt the motion and his belly tensed slightly, making Thomas's heart patter faster. Thomas struggled to suppress a smirk, basking in his control.  
“For the same reason I won't do this.” 

The Virginian ever so softly lifted the hem of Alexander's shirt, sliding the muzzle next to his naval and just barely touching the freezing muzzle to his smooth, warm belly.  
Alexander gasped and choked within the same breath, hips jumping a tiny bit at the surprising chilliness, jerking against Thomas's. Thomas looked right into his eyes, sharp brows furrowed darkly as he just watched. Just watched him struggle to breathe. Those brown eyes were full of hatred despite his needy panic, becoming more urgent by the second. 

His hips jerked again and brushed right up against Thomas's clothed cock.

And... something about the intensity... about the heated tension. The absolute FIRE. He couldn't put his finger on it, but it didn't matter now as a dull thread of warmth pooled in the pit of Thomas's lower belly when Alexander pressed against him. The Virginian felt the rush of blood and parted his lips in shock at his reaction.  
...How could this happen? How could he let this happen? 

His lip curled in disgust as Thomas let go his grip and let his hand fall to hold Alexander's tie.

Alexander gasped, cool air rushing into his lungs as he coughed, panting. Thomas tucked his gun back into his pocket, letting the hem of Alexander's shirt fall back down into place. Thomas waited for Alexander's next words, the boy choking several times before he could get them out. His head had fallen down against his chest, his hands protectively around his own throat, and Thomas just waited.

Head being down, Thomas could see the purple crescent bruises he had pressed into his neck, dark against his skin. But those eyes slowly raised, head gradually lifting. And Thomas realized he was smirking. 

“And you...” he whispered through heaving breaths, flashing Thomas a smile. Thomas's face darkened. “Call me... a sadist.” he panted and grinned, leaning against the wall. For a moment, Thomas was confused. But he realized all too late that he was using it as leverage as he slowly... deeply, grinded his hips against his captor.

No... fucking... way...

Thomas just shook his own head dangerously slowly, watching with silent outrage, speechless FURY as Alexander proceeded to drag his cock up Thomas's, never letting his eyes stray. When he had finished, he held himself there against Thomas, lips parted in what looked like indecision between a smirk and just a mocking gape.  
Thomas was utterly speechless. Completely fucking dumbfounded. 

“What... the fuck... is wrong with you...” he whispered, practically vibrating with fury. The amount of blood roaring in his ears was concerning. How DARE Alexander do this. Now. After everything. He was despicable and Thomas just needed to get out, get out of that elevator. This wasn't right and yet.... 

Alex just shrugged. “Want the short list or the long list.”  
“Shut up.” Thomas spat as soon as he had started speaking, seizing the shoulders of Alexander's suit and clenching the fabric in aggressively balled up fists. Alexander jumped at the sudden movement from the taller man, over-recovering by shoving his face right up to Thomas’s, challenging him. 

“Fucking make m-!”

But before he could utter another word, Thomas yanked him forward, smacking his wide-open mouth onto Alexander's, devouring it viciously. Alexander's knees almost buckled as he immediately opened his mouth obscenely wide for Thomas's tongue to force in and press against his own.  
Alexander raked his tongue deep into Thomas's throat, sliding over his teeth first. It was hot and filthy and excessively wet.

And then it HIT Alexander. 

Holy fucking shit. Holy motherfucking shit, Thomas Jefferson was making out with him. The rush of blood to his lower belly was almost painful in its powerful intensity, making his knees weak for a moment, falling against the wall before he got his head about him. 

Just a day and his little plan had worked so quickly? Alexander smiled cockily into his mouth with deep self-satisfaction and it washed over him in a rush of heat. He couldn’t take it anymore.

He shoved off the wall and grabbed Thomas's collar with both hands in one powerful surge of movement, forcing Thomas to stumble back with him into the opposite wall, tumbling over one another in a flurried mess of grappling and muffled snarls.  
Thomas expertly twisted around right before they smacked into the wall, pinning Alexander once again with his body. The little one smiled, raking his tongue hotly and roughly against the roof of Thomas's mouth and grinded into those hips once again. He smiled into Thomas. 

“No fair...” he mumbled, yanking harshly on Thomas's tie to bring him in for another. But Thomas didn’t come back. 

He ripped away like a horse pulling at the reins, the tie slipping through Alex’s fingers and burning him, and knotted his hands roughly in Alexander’s scalp. He slammed his head against the wall, pinning it there by the hair. 

Alexander bared his teeth and snarled at the sharp pain that made his eyes water. His eyes burned into Thomas’s, brows furrowed angrily as he jerked, trying to lower his chin to see Thomas better. 

Thomas was still, so utterly still as he held him defenseless. His ebony eyes were so black, they reflected Alexander’s own face within them. And then Thomas's face moved.  
Alexander observed him carefully as he licked his own lips and the insides of his cheeks with concentrated intent and precision.  
...what? 

After a few moments of stillness, Thomas nodded slowly in understanding, seething as his tongue poked the side of his cheek. 

“Budweiser. Vodka.” he nodded, pursing his lips. 

Alexander’s face fell in shock. So this is what this was about.  
Thomas didn’t want to kiss him, no. He was tasting his mouth to see if he was drunk, and the bastard had fooled him right into the trap. 

He cocked his head, face close to Alexander’s, “So that’s what this is about.” he spoke, deep voice rumbling, “No question about where you were now, filth.” he spat in disgust, “At the bar. Drinking underage.”  
“That’s a lie, dipshit.” Alexander scoffed in outraged incredulity.  
“Give me your fake ID.” Thomas cut him off with the strict firmness of a father, jabbing out a hand for him to place it in. It was an order that left no room for disobedience, yet Alexander found it anyway. He squirmed. 

“I don’t have a fake ID, genius.” he spat, craning his neck, “Even if I did, all my things are confiscated until I’m back in the system.”  
“Bullshit.” Thomas snarled right back, “Where the fuck else would you get liquor; do I look like a fucking moron to you?” 

Alexander grinded his molars, jaw muscles showing sexily as he did so. Thomas tried not to look. God… seeing him like this was setting him on fire and scalding him.  
“Yeah, you know what, you kind of do right about now, Jefferson.” he retorted and Thomas immediately reacted, twisting the hair in his fist. 

Alexander growled through his gritted teeth animalistically, pain showing as sparks in his eyes.  
“What? You don’t think I have friends to drink with?” he roared through the pain, eyes squeezed shut. Thomas screwed up his lips, watching him struggle through it. And he relished in it, relished giving Alexander pain. His dream flashed before his eyes once again, the ringing PANG of the gunshot echoing in his head. The scream. Thomas’s face darkened. 

“No,” he whispered lowly, “Not anymore.” 

Alexander stopped jerking.  
He panted heavily, his eyes locking viciously with Thomas’s. There were several beats of silent, crackling tension where nobody dared say a word. They both knew Thomas’s implication. 

Alex shook his head with the tiny amount of leeway he still had, in complete disbelief with this man.  
“You’re a child.” he spat with dangerous quietness, letting shade cloud his eyes, “You’re blinded, Jefferson. And you’re too blind to even know that you are.” 

“Stop talking.”  
“I’m not drunk, you ass. I had one beer with Laurens. Get a breathalyzer and fucking check.” Thomas’s entire body was RADIATING warning.  
“Stop talking.” he repeated for the last time, pressing Alexander harder to the wall, but he went on, not leaving his rant unfinished. 

“You’re so bent on catching me red-handed that you’re making a fool out of yourself.” Thomas opened his mouth angrily but Alexander pressed on,  
“What? Gonna say you’re just trying to get away from me?” he shook his head, laughing highly, “Take a little peek at the elevator panel, Jefferson. You never even pressed a floor button. You saw me and dropped everything else you were doing JUST to accuse me of the first piece of horse shit that popped into your head.” 

Alexander squinted, relishing the fury building up behind Thomas’s dark irises, basking in it. He lowered his tone, slowing down. 

“We’ve got two days, Thomas. Two days for you to look yourself in the mirror and figure it out.” he finished his words on a lethal whisper, slowly shuffling his body into position against the wall. He twitched an eyebrow and carefully pressed a knee up between Thomas’s legs. 

Thomas didn’t move. He didn’t fucking move other than to breathe LIVID breaths through his nose, pysically struggling to hold himself back. How… DARE he…  
Alexander smirked maliciously, biting his lip and pressing just slightly harder, JUST enough to be uncomfortable against his hardness. 

“For you to figure out that you don’t even want me locked back up in that asylum, no.” He flashed his eyebrows again, watching Thomas grow angrier and angrier. “You want to punish me yourself…” Alexander breathed. “Partner.” 

Thomas gaped at him. Silent, not even breathing. A part of him wondered if he was still dreaming, nobody would disrespect him so bluntly… nobody would dare. And yet, Alexander was there, standing right in front of him, and calling him ‘partner’ two days before they could even think about training. It was real. It was... VERY real...  
The boy just waited patiently for his reaction, knee just pushing up against his hard bulge. 

And for a moment, he wanted to. For a moment, he was fully ready to grab Alexander by the tie and drag him into his apartment to force some discipline into him, humble him. But the moment passed over him, washed out by stinging fury. 

Thomas violently let go of Alexander’s hair, pushing away from him and punching the ‘door open’ button on the panel. And yet, Alexander did not waver, didn’t even seem disappointed. The fancy doors slid open, revealing the same hallway, and Thomas strode out, lips screwed up in utter outrage. He glided down the carpeted hallway. 

There was a soft laugh and a high pitched sigh from behind him,  
“See you at the ball, Jefferson.” 

The twenty-four-year-old looked over his shoulder, eyes spitting hatred at his rival. He leaned against the wall, more tousled than ever, arms and ankles crossed leisurely. His lips twitched into a smirk as the doors began to slide closed.  
“Tick tock.” 

The last thing Thomas saw was the curl of his left-smirk, glistening with the remnants of their heated encounter.


	5. I'll Give You a Show

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter coming out MUCH sooner! Thank you so much for waiting! ❤️ Finally, some SMUT!

Alexander sauntered back into John’s apartment, letting the door swing shut behind him and startling his friend who was sitting on the couch in the dark, TV flashing a vintage episode of The Office. 

He jolted, whipping around his head to see Alexander stroll in like he owned the place, plastic bag in hand.  
“Yo.”  
“Jesus fuckign Christ, Alex…” John exhaled, hand to heart as he cast him a glare and slowly turned back around, shaking his head in annoyance. His friend ignored him, tossing the keys onto the countertop as he passed and skirting around the couch. 

He flopped down on it with a sigh, bouncing them both and, letting the plastic bag crinkle as it plopped to the floor by the bluetooth speaker that was cranking out some Blink182. He leaned back lazily, kicking off his shoes under the coffee table.  
“So they’re out of that Aveda shampoo again, so I’m using yours.” he mumbled, shuffling down and propping his feet up on the table, trying to tune into the episode.  
John looked across at him casually but paused, caught off guard for a beat. He hesitated. 

“And I couldn’t even find any fucking mouthwash so just fuck that I guess-”  
“Alex--”  
“No, I know what you’re gonna say, and I looked in the razor aisle.”  
“Alex.” John cut him off again, a smile pulling at his lips. The boy was only illuminated by the flashing light of the TV, but John could see. 

“What’s that on your neck?” 

Alexander immediately turned his head to John perfectly so that his hair covered the area.  
“Huh?” he grunted, making a face and running a hand up the front of his neck, “You good, man?” Alexander laughed, shaking his head fondly and returning back to the TV. But John wasn’t going to let him off THAT easy. 

He scooted closer across the couch, squinting in suspicion.  
“Pretty sure there’s something on your neck, bud.” He pursed his lips, nodding knowingly at Alexander. He reached his hand out to brush away his hair but Alex finally snapped his head back to him, giving him a face. 

“Piss off.” he inched backwards, avoiding the touch.  
“Let me take a look.” John persisted, touching his neck this time and Alexander smacked his hand away with lightning reflexes.  
“Go away.”  
“If you’re injured, you should Neosporin that shit.”  
“I’m fine.” Alexander brushed him off with a sneer.  
“Dude, you gotta-”  
“FINE.” Alexander spelled it out for him, flopping back onto the back of the couch and crossing his arms. He huffed and turned his face to the TV once again. He knew that John was watching him carefully, his specialty. He could see that he was trying to hold something back that he was dying to tell. John shrugged, crossing his arms as well. 

“Fine. I can’t make you tell, bro.” he sniffed, looking back at the TV.  
“Damn straight.” 

Alexander shrugged grumpily too, keeping his eyes forward.  
After only a few seconds, they darted to John once, and then back. The older tried not to smile as he saw Alexander do it a second time, waiting for John to ask him, beg him to spit it out, but he wasn’t going to. Alex would spill like Niagara Falls in three… two… 

“Okay fine, if you’re that desperate.” Alexander finally broke, caving in to his own arrogance.  
“Yeah.” John turned to Alex and lowered the volume on his blocky remote a few times, tossing it back on the coffee table. He gave Alexander all ears as the boy placed an arm across the back of the couch, somehow managing to look like a king even in the humble apartment. 

His dark eyes glinted with that dangerous, steely ambition he always seemed to carry about him. 

“You’ll never guess who I met on the ride up.” he began, tossing his chin cockily into the air.  
“Beyonce.” John mumbled under his breath, pulling his legs up onto the couch and shuffling. Alexander ignored him and continued. 

“None other than pretty boy Tommy Jefferson.” he purred, delighted with himself.  
John’s breath caught in his throat and he coughed, some spit going down the wrong way. Alexander just waited, pleased at his shock as he hacked and wheezed. 

“You met…” he sputtered, eyes down but pointing at Alexander, “Thomas Jefferson…” he swallowed, panting, “In the middle of the night?” 

“Yep.” Alex concurred with a nod, “In the elevator.”  
“Holy motherfucking shit.” John blinked, shaking his head is absolute bewilderment. 

“He wasn’t too happy to see me.”  
“What are the fucking odds…” John trailed, still distracted by the shock and swallowing from his little fit. 

“Mhm.” Alex grunted in acknowledgement, unbuckling and kicking off his pants, getting comfortable.  
“Fuck. So what’d he say?” John probed, guiding Alexander through his own story.  
“Asked me where I’d been. Didn’t seem too happy that I’d clearly been dicked not five minutes ago.”  
“You told ‘im?”  
“Nah.” 

Alex bent awkwardly forward with a grunt, grabbing the half-empty bag of Tostitos off the coffee table where John had been hogging them. John waited for him to go on impatiently; the boy just crunched on the chips.  
“....AND…” John prompted, gesturing with his hands. Alex swallowed and leaned back, face flickering in and out of view in the TV light.

“Well I told him I didn’t have to tell him squat-shit and he could go fuck himself with a meat grinder.” 

John immediately turned his whole body to Alexander, jaw dropped in cold dread.  
“Alexander Hamilton.” he breathed, eyes wide as plates, “You’d better tell me right now you didn't say that to Thomas fucking Jefferson.” 

“So what if I did?” Alexander threw his hands up, scowling a bit at the TV and taking another handful; John just broke down in defeat, burying his face in his hands.  
“Someone needs to show that ass hat that he’s just as full of shit as everyone else.” 

John was shaking his head, rubbing his face up and down in his hands with dull groans. He couldn’t believe his friend, and yet this is exactly what Alexander would do. Could he expect anything else? God, Alex was dead meat. 

“So things got kind of heated and he slammed me to the wall and pinned me by the throat.” he shrugged casually as if this happened every Sunday on his evening stroll, “Hence the nail marks.” he brushed his hair aside to show him the four, deep, purple, puffy crescent-moon-shaped indents in his delicate skin. John just peeked from between his fingers and groaned louder this time. 

“That’s it. You’re done.” He clipped, lifting his arms and letting them fall to his side, “Been good knowing ya, Ham. Been a good run.”  
“Yeah but get this.” Alex let his hair fall back into position, shuffling down smugly into the couch. He smirked and gave John his conniving little sideways glance, cocking his head the smallest bit. 

“Told me to shut up, so I pulled ‘ol reliable with the ‘make me’. And get this: he made me.” Alexander looked back to the TV, shifting his shoulders and crossing his feet up on the coffee table, “With his mouth.” 

John was struck stupid. His mouth fell open, the words slamming into him like a sixteen wheel semi. For a full minute, he couldn’t do damn shit except for stare. Alex just munched away contently as if he didn’t even realize the monstrosity of this whole conundrum. 

John blinked, “Am I having a stroke or are you acting like this isn’t bigger than the drop of Avengers Endgame.”  
“Nothing’s bigger, bro.”  
“No, this is COLOSSAL, Alex.” John finally let his emotion rush out. Netflix asked if they were still watching and Alex crawled over John to select yes. John blinked, absolutely AMAZED that Alexander wasn’t even making this a huge deal. He scoffed incredulously. 

“So is this a thing now? You and Thomas?”  
Alex burst out in a high laugh, “Oh no, Laurens, HELL no.” he laughed once again after a pause, letting the notion amuse him as he crossed his legs, “We’ve gotta go to bed first, Jefferson and I.” he sighed contently as if he had this whole thing planned out perfectly in his head, wrapped around his finger.

John stared, scanning the boy and his movements, expressions. Did… DID he have this all planned out, knowing Jefferson’s every move, every little card he was going to play? John swallowed and covered it up smoothly. 

“So yeah, just no problem with a--what is it?--FIVE YEAR age difference.” John waved a hand, frowning as if he was tossing some rubbish in the trash. Alexander grinned and shrugged, glancing across at him.  
“Never bothered me with Washington.”  
“Okay, you never TOUCHED Washington, dipshit.” John scoffed, making Alexander roll his eyes and grumble, but John went on, “Even THEN your twenty-year-age-difference-kink concerned me.” 

“Seventeen…” Alexander corrected disgruntledly under his breath, chewing on another chip. 

“Not just your age kink but your size kink is some wack shit too.”  
“Are we kink shaming me because that’s also in my kink library.” John ignored him and plowed on.  
“Jefferson’s gotta be, what? Six foot five?” 

“And?” Alex sneered, shuffling his legs out of criss-cross and being sure to kick John with his socked foot, poking him and wiggling his heel into his thigh.  
“You’re not even five foot seven, jackass.”  
“I’m close.”  
“No you’re not.”  
“Five foot six and three quarters, eat my ass.” 

John couldn’t help but laugh, kicking Alexander’s foot away from him. The two trailed off, eventually settling into silence as Michael threw the most awkward baby shower of all time for Jan onscreen. Hell, Jan wasn’t making it any less awkward, Alexander noted. 

Neither spoke as John silently mulled over what he had just heard. With the music and theTV, it wasn’t easy to think, but maybe he’d like it better that way. What was going to become of this? Alexander playing around with the most powerful agent other than himself. 

He looked over at his little friend. Just an ovepowered teengager with the world at his fingertips in fear. He was poking a stick into a snakehole, John knew. The kid was messing around with fire and there was no way he was going to stop until he got what he wanted. But… John bit his lip in uncertainty. 

“What do you even want, Ham?” John cocked his head, letting his curiosity get the best of him. 

Alexander just sighed, cracking his neck back and forth, squinting in concentration.  
“To sleep on a couch for the first time in a year. My neck still hurts from my collar.” 

A spurt of icy adrenaline prickled in John’s chest at the mention of that place. Of what he had done, validating his concerns. He swallowed the block in his throat. 

“No, like with Jefferson.” He cleared up as Alex bent forward stiffly and turned off the TV, the only sound was the speaker now, quiet in the background.  
Alexander’s head turned slowly towards him, and all he could see was the glint of his eyes in the darkness. John’s heart inexplicably… began to beat just a little bit faster in his chest. He shifted his weight. 

Alexander just looked at him, “I told you. My needs.”  
“Yeah but…” John started too weakly and cleared his throat, trying to recover, “But you could get anyone. I just don’t get it. Why Jefferson?” he spoke. 

Another long, uneasy silence followed. The song ended.  
A creeping, cold prickling of anxiety ran up his spine. The hairs raised on the back of his neck as he swallowed again. Alexander was calm in the quiet, radiating this sort of… energy in the dark. 

“Why… not Jefferson, Laurens?” he whispered, twitching a brow, not a hint of a smile on his face.  
And then he realized. 

John’s stomach lurched as if he had just fallen twenty feet. It was icy, arctic dread pulling at the pit of his stomach. Shit. Fucking shit he had messed up. He had really, REALLY fucked up. He licked his lips, trying to figure out how to fix this on the spot, how to answer Alexander’s blatant challenge without implying anything. He opened his dry mouth. 

“Because…”  
“Because I…?” Alexander opened his own mouth, parting his lips and raising his eyebrows as if to say in the most serious, most dangerous of ways, ‘come one now… SAY it. 

“...killed. Randolph?” Alex finished his sentence clearly, moving nothing but his lips as the words seemed to echo in the small space. 

The pause was deafening. The suspense was tangible in the air, vibrating between them. 

John blinked rapidly.  
“No, man, that’s not what I was saying.”  
“What were you saying.” Alexander followed up smoothly, as if allowing him a second chance. Just one last unspoken chance. John’s heart was now thudding. Why. Why did he have to be afraid of him? 

He ran his tongue over his dry lips.  
“I mean why would you wanna fuck with a guy that locked you up. In that place.” He finished choppily, trying not to sputter. He paused, waiting for Alexander to react, to say something, anything. 

Finally, the boy hummed, dipping his head in a nod.  
“Can’t say revenge isn’t a part of it, I guess.” He shrugged casually, placing his socked feet on the carpeted floor. With a deep sigh, he planted his hands on his knees and stood stiffly. John watched his every move. But despite the calmness of Alexander, his heart had just plummeted with dread. He didn’t mean… he couldn’t mean…

“You’re…” He began, voice cracking with discomfort. Alexander crossed in front of him, and John’s head followed his movement off the couch and towards the bathroom, padding down the dark, short hallway. John exhaled, gaining his composure.

“You’re not planning on… killing him, are you?” John finished with a quiet wince, almost regretting his words. Alex would never go that far. He wouldn’t. 

Alexander stopped dead in his tracks. He stayed, back turned from John in the hallway. Now John sat up on the couch so he could see him properly and tossed the bag of chips back onto the counter.  
“Cause if you are, Alex, I’m not fucking around.” his voice was firm with seriousness as he shook his head. The boy didn’t move. 

“I’m dead serious, Alex. If that’s what you’re thinking, don’t fucking do it. Because you really won’t be coming back if you pull that stunt. You won’t.”  
John surprised himself with his boldness, but he had to say it. He HAD to say it, Alexander would hardly listen to anybody else and he needed to hear it now. 

Alexander turned around, one hand on the wall as he just looked at John, who had stood up from the couch.  
“No, I won’t kill him. He’s far too important to this whole enterprise.” Alex shrugged with a frown of consideration. John's whole being literally LIFTED with relief. And then Alexander spoke again.  
“But oh, will it drive him crazy.” 

John watched Alexander’s eyes flash with wistfulness and stayed tuned in for the rest of his response, if any. Alex sighed.  
“When he’s lying in bed at night, whole body begging for the man he hates.” Alex cut himself off with a deep nod, grin spreading across his face, reveling in the thought.  
“It’ll drive him crazy.” 

John hooked the plastic bag with his foot, bringing it crinkling up to his hand. Alexander just sighed again.  
“He’ll wonder how the hell he let me get into his pretty little head.” John sniffed, tossing him the bag across the room and stepping into the kitchen for some Advil. 

“You’re a pretty sick person, Alex.” 

“I know.” The boy called muffledly from the bathroom. He stood before the mirror and exhaled calmly, brushing his hair back with his fingers and observing his face. He thought himself quite pretty. Alex heard the rattling and pop of the bottle and the running of the ice-maker in the fridge. His fingers paused in his hair for a moment. 

He leaned closer, tilting his head so that the side of his neck was exposed to the light. He wanted to grin, such pretty little bruises all in a row, a mark of Jefferson’s presence. Alexander ran his pointer finger over the sensitive side, feeling the swollen ridges and dips against his skin. 

He smirked, reveling in the sting.  
“So is Jefferson.” he breathed, stripping and readying for a shower and then bed.

**

He was going back after having sex. That was incredibly, impossibly obvious, Thomas thought, clenched his jaw and ran a hand through his hair. He’d tossed and turned in bed for a while before getting up to pace, pace in front of his hyper-realistic skyline, and he’d been doing that for God knows how long. 

Why did it even irk him? Why did it even set his nerves on fire and make him want to split the little fucker’s jaw open. He had the right to go get himself relieved, why the fuck should Thomas give half a shit. But the thought… 

Thomas didn’t know. He came across his bed for the millionth time and plopped down on it, pulling his phone out of the deep pocket of his satin nightclothes. The bright screen was a bit too much in the dark, but he swiped to the phone app, clicking near the top of his contacts on James. The Virginian whipped it to his ear, jaw grinding against the cold glass screen. 

He listened to it ring for a few moments, and the seconds dragged on. Nothing. The more he waited, the more he realized how impulsive this was. Better to just let it go to voicemail. Whatever, just fuck it, he thought, almost giving up. But at what seemed like the last moment, the tone sounded that James had picked up on the other side. 

Thomas listened, hearing just a light rustling sound. His brows furrowed. 

“James?” He almost barked into the phone. There was another rustle, and then a response finally.  
“Thomas. What do you need at this ungodly hour.” Thomas made a face. He expected that exact response, yes, especially from his classy, traditionalistic friend. But the way he said it, as if he had just finished laughing, or running or something. Weird. 

“Yes, I am aware that it’s late.” Thomas waved his hand dismissively, moving onto the next point, “Listen, James, I have a favor to ask of you and it pains me to do it, so may I be brief?” 

To Thomas’s surprise, there was a gasp on the other end of the line. And then it went silent, almost too silent like he was holding his breath. Or had hung up.  
“James?”  
“Yes, I’m here.” The voice sounded like through gritted teeth, but it was still conent. Thomas’s brows swooped in again, shaking his head as if brushing off a bothersome fly and moving forward. Just move forward. 

“Did you hear what I said.”  
“Yes, I heard what you said. What do you need?” 

Thomas took a deep breath, tapping his knuckle against his knee. This was the difficult part, he thought, exhaling and looking up towards the ceiling for some invisible advice.  
“I need you to be my date to the anniversary ball.” He managed with an even, cool voice--his specialty--despite his discomfort, requesting like it was a business deal. 

There was a hesitation on the other end of the line.  
“James?”  
The response came bitingly.  
“Have you lost your wit?”  
“No, my wit’s intact--just--” Thomas closed his eyes and tilted his face up to the ceiling again, gripping some sheet in his hand to vent his frustration. God, this was mortifying.  
“I need to go with a person of high stature such as myself.” 

“And what makes you--you--think that…” James started strong but his sentence kind of sputtered off awkwardly. What the fuck was going on? 

Thomas shook his head again, wanting this to be over with.  
“There are reasons that I need to sport a high esteemed date.”

There was a long, exhausted sigh on the other end of the line.  
“You’re trying to show someone up, Tom?” 

For a scary moment, Thomsa floundered, mouth opening and closing in search of words.  
“No, I--”  
“No, my friend, come off it for both our sakes, it’s late and I’d like to go to bed.” 

“Fine, then we can both agree to end this fucking conversation and go tomorrow. What time should I call for my car?”  
“Tom.” James sounded like if he were there in person he would purse his lips condescendingly, folding his hands on the table and looking down on Thomas like a father about to tell his son to kindly watch his temper. 

“You assume that I don’t already have a date.”  
Now THAT caught Thomas off guard.  
“Huh?” Thomas broke his naturally calm demeanor. The Virginian could almost feel the eye-roll through the phone. 

“I am going with someone, Tom.” he spelled out patronizingly. There was more shuffling, and breath on that end of the line. Oh. Thomas rolled his head back, pulling the phone from his ear for a moment of mortification. Fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK. He pulled air through his nose, lips pursed. Pull yourself the fuck together, Thomas. 

“Well, congratulations.” he strained through gritted teeth.  
“Thank you. I trust you’ll find another of high esteem to accompany yourself. Perhaps Agent Hamilton to sport your newfound trust that I’m sure is developing?” He asked like a teacher quite aware that a student hadn’t studied for his test. 

Thomas ground his jaw so hard he could crack a molar.  
“I’ll consider it.” he monotoned, so close to revealing his true mood. 

“I’m sure you will.” James clipped curtly, definitely nodding his head wherever he was, “Get to bed, Tom. Staying up at this hour isn’t going to help anything.”  
“Nothing to be helped.”  
“Hilarious. Go to sleep.”  
“Likewise. Why are you awake?”

“Perhaps because my phone rang in the dead of night.”  
“You sound awake, James.”  
“I certainly am, thanks to yourself. Do I sound irritated? Because I am surely both at the moment.” 

“Alright, fine. Hanging up.” Thomas fought not to sneer, settling with an eye roll. He pulled the phone from his ear and punched the red icon, listening to the hangup tone. As soon as his screen went dark, he tossed his phone somewhere in the bed, not really caring at this point. That was fucking humiliating; he never did something so rash. So desperate. Why now? 

Thomas raked a hand through his raven hair. He had boys at his beck and call, no doubt. And James and himself had no attraction whatsoever, no doubt. But GOD, going with him would have wiped the arrogant smirk right off the little fucker’s face. GOD to see the look on his face…

The frustration made Thomas clench his jaw and swing his feet into bed, shuffling and shifting around in the expensive sheets until he was laying flat on his back, perfect hair sinking into the satin pillow. He’d do best to forget this entire shit-show of a night even happened, he decided, rolling onto his side. Fuck all of it. Fuck Hamilton. Fuck James. Fuck. 

But no matter how he rolled, he was followed by the lingering, dull heat that remained at the pit of his belly. No matter how he tossed and turned, it followed him, making him uncomfortable and frustrated, undeniably there. Still after all this time? 

He wanted to hit something, it was so infuriating. How whenever he closed his eyes, all he could see was the twitch of Alex’s belly against the gun, the hot roll of their hips against each other, the wet, dirty battle of tongues and the sound of their spit slicking together. So filthy… 

Thomas laid on his back, huffing in frustration.  
The way Alexander’s throat swallowed and fluttered against his powerful hand, struggling to look in his eyes. The whimper of pain… 

The thoughts followed him, guiding his hand almost innately down his smooth V-line, trailing his fingertips down to brush his powerful bottom-most abs. He wasn't even controlling his movements. Not even thinking about what he was doing and WHO he was even thinking of, Thomas slipped his hand beneath his boxers briefs, loosely gripping his half-hard cock and giving it a couple absent-minded strokes. It was more of a consolation than pleasure. 

He deserved more than this, he thought arrogantly to himself. He should hit up one of his various selections of boys on speed-dial; they were probably awaiting such an honor. But as he found the head of his cock, rubbing just under it with the pad of his thumb, he knew what he wanted. 

He knew.  
Thomas sighed a frustrated huff, letting go his cock and letting it throb in dissatisfied frustration. He knew what he wanted. 

Didn’t mean he had to believe it. 

**

“Find it funny how we’ve got security for an FBI party?” Alexander snickered softly, leaning to whisper do John. John glanced over to where his friend was looking across the ballroom of people, security in black tuxedos like their own standing stiffly in front of the doors. 

“Makes sense, doesn’t it?” John shrugged.  
“Like half of us aren’t strapped up anyway.” Alex snorted, shaking his head and turning back to the bar. He swirled his drink in his glass and sniffed, taking another sip. John did the same and set his own down, eyes sweeping Alexander from head to toe. 

“Enjoying that Sprite?”  
“Shut up.” Alex mumbled into his glass, disgruntled. He hated being underaged because everyone fucking knew it. He hardly even looked nineteen, and there was no chance in hell he’d pass for older. So Sprite it was. John just chuckled, signaling to the bartender to take his credit card. 

Meanwhile, Alexander’s focus found its way to a group of people on the other side of the room near the orchestra. His eyes remained on them as he reached over and tapped John on the knee.  
“Hey, hey. Kiss now.” He waved his hand impatiently at his friend, who just set his drink down exhaustedly.  
“For fuck’s sake…” he sighed.  
“You promised.” 

John groaned, turning to Alexander with a forced, over exaggeratedly bright smile and leaned in for a kiss. Alex met his friend’s lips, placing his hand on his thigh. But he kept his eyes open the whole time, spying the group on the other side of the room. The sniper scanned between them, scouring for a tall, dark, head of hair. Nada. 

He sighed through his nose, patting John’s thigh and breaking apart.  
“False alarm.” he grumbled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. John did the same, equally as annoyed. He took back his credit card from the bartender and stuffed it in his wallet. 

“You don’t even need a fake ID, bitch, you’ll get drunk from all these fucking false alarms.”  
“Shut up, he’ll show eventually. Not like his ride’s slow.”  
John snorted, finishing off his drink with a long swig and licking his lips. 

“Touche.” he laughed. 

Alexander sipped loathingly at his fucking Sprite and looked around.  
The ball had been unique this year, perhaps strategically to flaunt the fearlessness of the FBI. Whatever the reason, he sure was happy, and the rest of the Bureau as well. Usually they’d hold it in the ballroom at headquarters that they used for private events. But this time, they bought out the entire resort downtown for the night. The place was brand-spanking new. Modern as fuck, hell, it even smelled new. 

The ballroom space was at the center of the hotel, the ceiling seemed to go up forever into a glass dome of starlight. It was one of those places where the rooms and balconies faced INSIDE as well as out, so all around them--starting a few floors up--were the suites. Alexander hid a smirk into his glass, knowing just how perfectly convenient this was. A little perk to Washington renting out the whole resort for the night was that everyone got to stay for the night if they so pleased. Everyone had a suite card tucked against their breast pocket right about now. Rumor had it that each one had its own jacuzzi, but only one way to find out. 

Now, the lights were low and soft as the orchestra played classical waltzes. Round tables with white tablecloths surrounded the dancefloor where men and women in ball gowns and tuxedos glided harmoniously. Dinner should be soon, and they’d sit through some probably mind-numbing speeches, and then continue with the evening. 

Alexander yawned, eyeing the chocolate fountain with particular interest. 

And then it happened. 

There was a chorus of cheers near the door and some heads turned--even over the pleasant buzz of the ballroom. Alexander’s ears pricked up and he lifted his head, alert. Now this was something. 

His adrenaline stirred, his instincts sensing it. 

“Laurens, you’re taller than me. What’s the deal?” he shook his thigh, jerking his friend out of his deeply interested Instagram scrolling. He scowled, lifting his head to peer above the commotion. He craned for a few seconds, trying to see the person at the center but it seemed he didn’t even need to as he caught sight of the car parked outside. A smile spread across his face. 

Alexander stared impatiently up at his face, growing restless.  
“What?” he pressed, trying to crane himself, but unable to see over the tall crowd of heads. John sighed highly, snaking his arm around Alexander’s little waist. Alexander’s lips broke into a malicious grin on seeing his friend twitch his eyebrows. 

“Lamborghini Veneno, custom matte black.” he recited, smacking his lips and settling his hips into the barseat. Alexander nodded with a hum, placing his Sprite on the counter and reaching up to play with John’s hair romantically. That was it. 

“The Nightcrawler…” he sighed. He knew it well. So Thomas had taken the big boy out for a drive tonight, which meant he was looking for trouble.  
Splendid. And that’s exactly what he was going to get. 

Alexander slid over to sit with his legs across John’s lap, putting himself on display.  
“You want a show, pretty boy,” Alexander purred. His friend huffed and wrapped his arms tighter around his waist, knowing he wasn’t talking about him. 

“I’ll give you a show.” Alex whispered. 

**

Thomas swerved expertly off of the street and glided up the round driveway in front of the resort. It felt so incredibly good, almost orgasmic to be back in his car, not some rusty old fuckbucket. He jerked the joystick into park and engaged the parking brake, listening to his baby roar over the faint sound of music inside of the building. 

He coughed lightly, leaning back in his seat and turning off the radio which was booming base. Despite the hour of the evening, he had his one-way RayBans set cooly on his marble face, just waiting for the valet. Should he even trust them with his car? 

Thomas rolled the window down with a button, glancing up at the resort. Shit, it was a nice place; his Lambo with the fountain in the background probably looked like a desktop wallpaper, he thought. 

“Sir, may I take your keys.” Two legs stepped in his view, and Thomas huffed a sigh, turning the key out of the ignition and listening to the car go silent. The man backed up as Thomas carefully pushed open the door, swinging himself out with a grace unknown to humankind. 

He smoothed back his dark hair.  
“Be careful with her or your name goes on the repairs bill.” he drawled dryly, dropping the keys into the startled looking man’s hands.  
“Of course, sir.” he managed, nodding deeply and moving around Thomas. The Virginian couldn’t bear to watch someone else get in his car and start driving it, so he raised his chin and moved curtly forward, gliding with poise towards the entrance. 

He could hear the music from the inside, pleasant and smooth. He could only hope that the rest of the night would be so.

Without even asking for his identification, the guards let him in. They knew who he was. 

Thomas stepped inside and looked around, plucking his glasses off his face. He hardly even had time to observe the premises before--  
“Jefferson!” Someone exclaimed, approaching him and handing him an elegant glass of champagne. The Virginian blinked. 

“Mr. Adams.” Thomas greeted with a deep nod, accepting the chilled glass from him. More men began to congregate around him, giving their greetings if they were familiar enough, and if they were lower agents, discreetly taking pictures of him with semi-hidden phones. Thomas was used to this kind of treatment, and he ignored it. 

“Please tell me I’ve come too late for my speech.” Thomas spoke, drawing a chorus of laughter from his followers. And just as the orchestra began another movement, just as the dance floor parted, just as Thomas happened to glance in that direction,  
he saw. 

Time seemed to slow down to a crawl… people frozen in place on the dance floor, waiters unmoving between the tables. The orchestra seemed to be petrified in place.  
And across it all, one pair of ebony eyes found the glinting mahogany ones and locked. The buzzing fell into a hushed silence in Thomas’s mind, a throbbing, swelling silence… The only thing moving was the boy.

His mouth opened and closed in time with John Laurens’s; he sat across his lap at the bar, empty drinks between them. And his eyes were open the whole time, staring at Thomas. He could just hear his heartbeat. Thomas thought that he could see the boy grin into his partner’s mouth and let the man pull him in closer.  
He twitched a brow. 

And in that moment Thomas’s entire being SURGED with an anger he couldn’t explain. His knuckles cracked at his sides as it grew, blooming in his chest like a three thousand year old instinct. And despite the crowd, despite the casual hands on his arms, he rounded his shoulders and strode forth. 

Alexander smiled. 

He didn’t even know what the hell he was planning on doing about it, but he was on his way. And God help whoever tries to stop him--  
“Tom, thank God.” 

His train of thought was brought to a skidding, crashing halt as James Madison stepped in his path, placing a hand on his arm. Thomas swallowed, looking over the man at Alexander, who grinned and closed his eyes.  
“Tom?”  
“Wh-yes?” Thomas sputtered, eyes flicking from Alexander to James distractedly. His heart was still pounding in his chest. 

Yet the shorter man was oblivious, pulling Thomas to the side near the edge of the ballroom. The Virginian fought to focus back on reality, time back into whatever his friend wanted. He blinked, stopping once James did, champagne sloshing precariously. 

“What?” He asked, the word coming out as a sneer. James wasn’t oblivious to THAT.  
He squinted and paused, waiting for Thomas to check himself. 

“How are you this evening, Tom.” He asked stiffly, voice upbeat despite his marble face. Thomas glanced over James’s shoulder one last time before focusing on him.  
“Fine.” he gritted his back teeth. 

“Splendid. Care to explain last night?” 

For a horrifying moment, Thomas’s stomach lurched nauseatingly. He scanned his friend’s light eyes, searching for his meaning, his mind jumping immediately to the encounter in the elevator. How could he know? He couldn't know. 

“Last night?” Thomas drawled, masking his panic smoothly. James heaved a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment.  
“Your phone call…” he prompted, waving a hand suggestively. Thomas’s ice-cold dread evaporated and he almost closed his eyes in relief, but he stayed calm. 

“Ah. That.” he sniffed, bringing the champagne to his nose for a whiff and swirling it. James just watched him avoid the subject, waiting patiently. He could wait, he blinked. Thomas took an elegant sip and lowered the glass. 

“Finished?” James asked with a raised eyebrow.  
The Virginian coughed lightly into his hand, “With this conversation, yes.” Thomas mumbled under his breath. James rolled his eyes exhaustedly, knowing that when the man was being difficult, he was DIFFICULT. And when he was stubborn, he was nearly impossible to budge. 

“Fine, Tom, have it your way.” he sighed with a smile, “I can’t force anything out of you.”  
“That is correct.”  
“Indeed.” he shrugged in contented defeat, as if he didn’t really care enough to persist, “And so you came with nobody tonight.” He changed the topic.  
Thomas shrugged and took another sip.  
“Came with myself. That’s as far from ‘nobody’ as you can get.”  
“Humble.”  
“Truthful.” 

The two finished their exchange and found themselves standing awkwardly face to face. Thomas sniffed and felt the discomfort growing, but he wasn’t going to be the one to step away, not on his fucking watch. He waited for James to shake his head and go find Washington. 

But perhaps he didn’t even need to wait for James to give up on him. 

A flicker of movement in the direction he had been monitoring suddenly caught his eye. His gaze darted up over James's shoulder, peering back to the bar. 

They flickered back and forth, straining to see through the drifting, milling people as John Laurens stood from his seat. He said something to Alexander and then leaned in for another kiss. Tongue flashes between them for a brief moment. A searing shot of anger laced through him and his eye twitched irritably. 

“Tom? Tom, are you even listening to me?” He realized that James had been talking, but he didn’t really comprehend it. Absent-mindedly, he handed the glass to his friend; he wouldn’t be needing it where he was heading.  
“Save me a seat. Be right back.” he clipped distractedly, eyes still on Alexander as he breezed past James. His friend just struggled with the glass, dumbfounded, as he watched Thomas go. 

The man marched across the elegant ballroom, skillfully avoiding waiters and dancers as he raised his chin, eye on the prize. Whatever the fuck he thought he was doing, he was going to do it with class. He straightened his bow tie, approaching Alexander where he sat. 

The boy leaned leisurely in his seat, content with himself, and didn’t seem to notice him until the last second. He raised his head and immediately broke out into a grin.  
“Yo.” 

Thomas straightened his cuffs and didn’t respond, swinging himself daintily onto the chair next to Alexander. He waved to the bartender instead, not looking at the boy at all. But the latter was observing him, yes, sweeping him up and down with intimate interest in his intentions. He glided a hand over his long hair, smoothing it down. 

“Enjoying your evening?” Alex asked, but Thoms brushed him off, speaking to the bartender.  
“Whiskey on the rocks.” he commanded, flicking out a credit card and handing it over between his index and middle finger. He finally glanced at Alexander, analyzing in his empty glass. 

“And--what--a CapriSun?” he guessed condescendingly with a half-sneer. Alex laughed lightly through his nose, not amused. 

“Sprite.” he requested, all eyes on Thomas.  
“Splendid.” The latter responded, matching eyes with Alex as the bartender drifted away to make their drinks. And then there was silence.  
For a while, the two just stared at each other, standing one another off. But Alex only retained the rigid eye contact for a few more moments before sighing and adjusting his watch on his wrist as if bored. 

Fine, if Thomas wanted to play the silent game, Alexander would get things running. 

“Saw you talking to James.” he mentioned casually, starting the conversation. The Virginian’s dark eyes observed him as he loosened his watch and rolled it around his wrist. He pulled his cuff back down.  
“Did you.” Thomas responded dryly, placing his elbow on the counter of the bar. Alex’s eyes flicked up to him as he spoke, “Didn’t know you were watching.” The Virginian rested his head lazily on his fingers. 

“Seemed pretty intimate.” Alexander responded with a frown of consideration, nodding to the bartender and picking up his sprite. He took a sip and cocked his eyebrows over his glass, eyes never leaving Thomas’s. 

The older received his whiskey, twirling the glass on the table.  
“Really? Intimate?” Thomas inquired curiously as if he wasn’t even there when it happened. Alex hummed in affirmation. Thomas just scoffed a laugh, pressing the glass to his lips and sipping the smallest amount before lowering it elegantly back to the wood. 

“Funny you say that, Alexander, because I saw you talking to that recruiting agent earlier.”  
“Did you.” Alexander followed the script, eyes flashing mischievously, “Didn’t know you were watching.” 

Thomas paused, realizing what Alexander was doing. What a fucking smartass. His ebony eyes darkened. 

“Think you’re smart, do you.” It was a flat statement. Alexander leaned back and shrugged.  
“Smart. Pretty. Rich. You name it.” He waved a lazy finger, smiling cockily back at Thomas. The driver, however, was not in the mood to play with him. 

He set his glass back on the table, moving his hands to slowly straighten the cuffs of his tuxedo.  
“I’m going to change my previous statement, bitch.”  
“Ooooh…” Alexander gasped and parted his lips in a smirk, “Feisty.” 

Thomas continued with nothing more than a dangerous look. 

“I didn’t see you talking to that lowlife, Hamilton. No, that would be hard with your tongue so occupied.” 

There was a jarring halt to the conversation. 

Alexander didn’t even look surprised as he blinked boredly at Thomas, a casual smile plastered on his face. And he let the silence draw out.  
“Really? Is that how you’re gonna do this?” He finally monotoned. 

“No, I don’t think I understand you, Hamilton.” Thomas interrupted as if Alexander had never even spoken, taking the conversation in his own direction. Thomas leaned back in his seat with a stiff sigh, trying to contain his temper and cool it. His eyes flashed at his little counterpart.

“You think I was going to let you pull that bullshit in the elevator last night and just brush it off?” He scoffed with a light smile, shaking his head and taking a sip from his whisky.  
“No… no, no.” he mumbled against the glass, taking his sweet time in finishing. He set it back down and licked his lips. Alexander sat still, watching him. 

“What did you think, Hamilton? That we’d just never even mention it again?”  
The boy sniffed and shrugged, “Fine by me…” he mumbled.  
“No. You get out of everything too fucking easy, but not with me, bastard. And you show up here with that…” he tried to gesture in the way he went, finding a word, “Joke.” 

THAT’S when Alexander started to prickle. He whipped his head to look up at Thomas, brows pulled in aggressively.  
“Excuse you, asshole.”  
“Shut up.” Thomas snarled, continuing, “I change my previous statement again, Alexander.” he decided, taking back his credit card seamlessly, eyes never leaving his partner. 

“I DO understand you.”  
“Oh do you?” Alexander sneered mockingly, lips screwing up in outrage. Who the hell did he think he was? Who the hell saunters up to make ridiculous claims like they own the goddam universe?  
“I do. I know you and all the other douchebags like you.” He spat the word, watching the shock melt off and give way to fury slowly mount in Alexander’s churning eyes.

“You think you’re so goddamn special but there’s a whole world of conceited jackoffs, Hamilton. You get a rise out of going for the LEAST likely person JUST to prove to yourself that you’re the shit.” 

He watched as the raw WRATH built up in those stormy irises, those knuckles slowly curling into fists. He could see him breathing through his tux now. Thomas leaned in, not finished yet. 

“Nineteen years old. Millionaire. Greatest sniper in the world.” he finished with a calm shake of the head, “My fucking ass." he spat, "You’re BELOW me, Hamilton.” he laughed, content, “You’re just another twink trying to get my attention.” He laughed lightly through his nose, sweeping Alexander up and down like he was truly nothing. 

The boy twitched an eyebrow at him. Odd.  
And then he smiled, despite all of the rage in his fiery eyes. 

“Funny how it’s working, isn’t it, Jefferson?” 

And nobody talked. Everything was still. 

Well fuck. Thomas had been handling himself fine. He had full control up until that very point... that very point.  
His heart thudded in his chest while his face showed positively nothing, and the silence drew on. How could he do this? How did the bastard take seven words and throw Thomas’s temper right out the window; it just didn’t make any sense. God… if they were alone in that ballroom, Thomas would throw Alexander across the bar counter, lay him out flat, but they weren’t. 

He had crossed the line. He had BEEN crossing the line all over Thomas for two days now. Had he forgotten who the fuck he was talking to? He had no idea who the fuck he was talking to. Thomas made the decision right then and there; this is where it stopped. This is where his little grace period was over, done, finished. Alexander Hamilton was a mannerless child. A fucking child. 

And Thomas Jefferson was done with this behavior. 

He drew a silent breath, setting his glass onto the table slowly, carefully. Alexander monitored his movements in the silence. The Virginian just stared at him, all cool and collected, but behind his eyes the wrath was beginning to brew. 

“Come with me, Alexander.” he spoke calmly with a nod, so quiet it was almost inaudible. Alexander furrowed his brows and scoffed.  
“ExCUSE m-”  
“Come with me…” Thomas cut him off cooly, eyes flashing dangerously. He was done. He was fucking done and he could hold his temper until, perhaps, the elevator. Alexander’s heart pounded against his ribs, 

“Now…” Thomas whispered, so lethally quiet that it was impossible to disobey.


	6. Shall We?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for waiting! I love and appreciate all of you, dear readers, and your support! Read on! 😄❤️

Thomas weaved through the buzzing people with Alexander in tow, shoulders rolled backwards, chin in the air. The contrast was almost comical, the rage in his seething face all against the grace and elegance of the ball. He had one thought on his mind. Make it to the elevator, just make it to the elevator. 

“Hey. Hey!” Alexander snapped angrily, struggling to keep up with him. Thomas shook his head in irritation, continuing at his pace, not caring in the slightest if Alexander had to struggle to catch up. Let him struggle.

The elevator port came into view and Thomas strode up to the pretty redwood doors, requesting access with a wave of his hand. And he waited. In only a few seconds, Alexander emerged from the crowd, looked pissed off as he’d ever been.

“Pardon my French but who the FUCK do you think you are?” he barked loudly over the noise of the bureau. He had unbuttoned his tuxedo and his slim body was visible against his cummerbund and sharp-looking turn-down shirt. He approached Thomas just as the elevator dinged to announce its presence, oiled doors gliding open. 

“Hello?” he scoffed, arms open as he followed Thomas inside. The taller stood poised facing the doors, not even looking at Alexander. He watched calmly as the doors slid closed, the last sights of the ballroom disappearing. Three more seconds… he heard the blood roar in his ears. So close.   
Two… God… he was itching, ITCHING to take care of this. So close, so fucking close.  
One...

Ding. 

He ROUNDED on Alexander.   
The little one hadn’t a moment to react before he was slammed to the wall, making the whole capsule shake as their bodies rattled it. “Thomas Jefferson…” Alexander thought, “playing rough”’. A snarl of pain was all he could manage as he tossed his hair out of his eyes. 

"WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE.” Thomas roared right back, grabbing the shoulders of his tux and holding him to the wall. Alexander scoffed and shoved both his palms right into Thomas’s chest, jerking him away with a jabbing movement. 

“Don’t touch me.” he spat furiously, straightening his lapels aggressively as if he’d just been touched by vermin. Thomas bore right back down on him, spitting something incoherent and grappling for both of his wrists. Alex grunted and jerked, trying to avoid his capture, but Thomas snagged the cuffs of both wrists. He slammed them roughly to the wall above his head, out of reach. Trapped. 

For a few moments of crackling tension, there was only heavy breathing, Alexander’s belly fluttering, stretched out against his white shirt. He was exposed; he was vulnerable. He was at the Virginian’s mercy. Thomas ground his teeth, digging his nails into Alexander’s wrists.   
“Don’t… EVER…” he spat under his breath, pointing right at Alexander’s face, “Talk back to me, fucker…” 

Alex laughed, squirming a bit against the wall. The lapels of his tuxedo rustled.   
“What’re you gonna do, pretty boy?” He chortled, “What ARE you gonna do?” he panted, a smile on his face, “I’m curious.” 

The word was hardly out of his mouth before the deed was done; Thomas had had enough; he’d been pushed to the absolute limit, and now he had crossed the line.  
No more nice play. 

In one movement, he reeled back his hand and brought it whacking across Alexander’s mouth. 

“Thwap!”

There was a blinding flash of pain, and his head snapped to the side, hair covering his face. And he stayed there. Thomas just watched him with an emotionless, heartless stare. 

Alex’s lips were parted in dumbfounded shock. As he slowly….slowly comprehended what had just happened. The white hot flash of pain lanced across his face, reverberating and stinging his skin. No. Fucking. Way.   
Thomas Jefferson had hit him. Thomas Jefferson had slapped him right across the mouth. 

He remained there, lips parted for a beat of silence. Two. Three. 

Thomas carefully pressed a button on the elevator panel behind his back, an icy calm taking over him. He leaned in close to his victim, brushing his lips over his ear. Alexander held down a shiver as Thomas just held his lips there, so close to his vulnerable ear. And waited. 

“Did that hurt, Alexander?” he whispered in that deep voice, hot breath brushing his face. Alex panted, gritting his teeth and cracking his jaw to regain the feeling.   
“That the best you can do, Jefferson?” Alexander breathed, rolling his wrists against Thomas’s restricting hand. He slowly raised his head, eyes watering from the strike. Their eyes locked. 

“Felt like a butterfly landing on my cheek.”   
The taller’s eyes darkened dangerously, “Don’t.” Thomas shook his head, genuine, RAW warning in his dark tone, “Don’t do it, Alexander.” 

The boy screwed up his face even more, bringing it close to Thomas’s, “Don’t what.”   
“Don’t give me permission to hurt you. Because GOD…” he closed his eyes, relishing in the thought, “God, will I hurt you.” 

The elevator dinged, signaling that they had arrived at Thoma’s floor. Alex’s eyes flickered from the door to Thomas, twitching his brows. He made his decision.  
“Try me.” Alexander whispered nearly inaudibly, daring to ever so lightly… brush his lips against Thomas’s. 

The doors slid open and neither moved, waiting for the other one to do something. The silence was deafening, just the two and the soundless hallway.   
It seemed to drag on forever. There was nothing but the breathing and the raw, bare sexual tension in the inch between the two. And then Thomas made his final decision, not caring if he would regret it later. 

“Choose a safeword, now, Hamilton.” Thomas growled, “Or I’m sending you downstairs.” 

There it was. Oh, how the tables have turned. Alexander’s smirk started small, but it tugged at the corner of his lips until it was full, red, devilish.   
Showtime.   
“Calico.” he decided, using a personal favorite, “I won’t be needing it.” he shrugged smugly.   
“Don’t care.” Thomas grunted, reaching behind Alexander and grasping the back of his collar. 

“Go.” he spat, letting go of Alexander’s wrists and making him gasp; the release of the nails hurt more than the grip. 

“Fuck…” Alexander breathed, rubbing over the crescents with his thumb, but Thomas shoved him powerfully, using the enormous size difference to his advantage.   
“I said ‘go’, are you fucking deaf?” Thomas sneered, pushing him by the collar in front of him, manipulating him out of the elevator doors.   
Alexander responded only with a growl as Thomas walked close behind him at a brisk pace, holding and twisting his collar up at an uncomfortable angle like a lion holding its naughty cub by the scruff of the neck. 

The hallways were carpeted, insulated, sleek designed. Thomas would admire the architecture had he not been so occupied. 

“Let me go, I can walk, asshole.” Alexander twisted and Thomas gripped him tighter, adding a hand to his hair to yank painfully.   
“I’ll fix that, don’t you worry.” Thomas snarled darkly, jerking him around the corner, “And I didn’t say you could talk, so shut your fucking mouth. First and last warning.” His voice was so startlingly grave that Alexander actually obeyed him on pure instinct. 

He struggled to get his key card out of his breast pocket and press it to the pad at the door, hearing it unlock with a click. Alexander could tell the Virginian was growing restless at this point, hasty. 

“Get in.” he spat dryly, shoving the smaller one inside and letting him go roughly, brushing off his hands and letting the door slam behind him. It was quiet inside, the warm, modern lights on low. 

The suite was massive, the ceilings so high that it was evident they were on the top floor. There was a full kitchen and living room and an open concept bedroom, a king bed right at the top of a couple stairs. It oddly resembled Thomas’s apartment, which was fine by him. He wouldn't have cared if it was a motel room. He wouldn't have cared if there wasn't even a bed. 

Alexander stumbled inside, whirling around and straightening his jacket once again, looking like he was about to say something.   
Thomas just sniffed, all-business as he reached inside his own tuxedo and pulled out his gun, tossing it onto the kitchen counter with a clatter. 

Alexander’s eyes flickered from it to Thomas.   
“Don’t even think about it.” he curled his lip and sneered, taking a few slow steps towards Alexander. Alex scoffed incredulously at him. 

“You think I’d blow your head off here? This is a new tux, pretty boy.” he gestured to himself, backing up ever so slowly in time with Thomas, maintaining the distance. The larger man just twitched his lip, pitch eyes glinting at the way Alex was backing away. The smaller held his chin high, trying to look down on Thomas, but the Virginian could see it. He could smell the fear. 

“I like you better like this, Hamilton. Much better.” he drawled, “Terrified.” Thomas growled, hands drifting softly to his own belt buckle. Alexander held down a swallow, eyes wavering as he saw what Thomas was doing.   
“You wish.” he spoke, but his voice cracked just the smallest bit at the end. 

Ah, there it was. 

Thomas raised his brows and parted his lips knowingly, stepping forth to continue their little dance of predator and prey. Alexander’s eyes smoldered right up into Thomas’s as he stepped back again, nearly tripping as he whipped his head around, realizing he had hit the first step up towards the raised part of the room. His gaze darted right back to Thomas, backing carefully up the steps now. 

His heart started to thud. 

The bigger man was closing in on him, leaving no possible way of escape. And Alexander wasn’t looking for one. 

Thomas laughed unbuckling his belt in a sharp movement, making Alex flinch.   
“Alright, slut.” Thomas began, snaking his belt out of the loops and dropping it to the floor with a thud. Alex took another step up, running into something behind him. He didn’t have to look to know that it was the bed. 

“I can’t do half of the things I have in mind for you right now.”

Alex placed his hands behind himself on the bed's smooth sheets, standing before it, “Why? Soft?” Alexander taunted, heart rate elevating relatively to how close Thomas was getting to him. The tall, dark haired man stepped up to the raised area. 

“Not enough time. Not enough tools.” He rumbled lowly, ebony eyes glinting in the low light. Alexander’s breath fluttered, his heart skipping a beat. 

“Tools?” he repeated, flustered. Fuck… he’d come for copper and found gold, it seemed. The word itself, the way he’d said it.... Alexander’s lower belly was splashed with a rush of heat. Thomas hummed in affirmation, rumbling deep in his chest. 

“Tools, Hamilton.” He restated, drawing close to Alexander, so close that only a vibrating inch of space remained between them. The suspense was agonizing as Alexander slowly, hesitantly raised his eyes to Thomas’s, inch by torturous inch. His stomach lurched as soon as he locked eyes with his dom.  
Shit.   
He hadn’t comprehended the size difference until now… 

Thomas curled a lip, revealing his characteristically sharp canines.  
“Guess I’ll have to make do.” he growled slowly, stepping forward so that Alexander had nowhere to go but walk his hands backwards, forced to lower himself to the bed.   
“You don’t scare me, Jefferson.” Alex laughed, genuinely amused, “You actually think-”

In a fraction of a second, Alexander’s words were cut off with a throaty choke. Silenced.   
All he could do was open and close his mouth, searching for air, panic blooming in his chest. Thomas stood above him with a face so straight and icy, it was BITING. His lip twitched slightly as he slowly… slowly lowered Alexander to the bed by his throat, pinning him there while he stood standing. 

Alex’s hands shot to Thomas’s forearm holding it HARD. He gasped, coughing for air, but Thomas just cocked his head heartlessly, peering down at him as he brushed a thumb gently down to rest between his collarbones. His eyes were pitch black. He wasn’t fucking around anymore. 

“Don’t ever speak to me in that tone again.” he whispered lethally quiet, voice dripping with warning. Alexander gritted his teeth, head falling back as he tried to breathe. Thomas just held him there. 

“I will not tolerate this disrespect.” he spoke cooly, brushing the thumb menacingly between those collarbones, “I won’t tolerate this behavior.” 

Suddenly, Thomas snarled, pressing his thumb in the hollow, gently at first. He stood between Alexander’s legs, and the boy started jerking them, desperate for air. Their clothed cocks brushed together and both silently acknowledged that the other was hard, painfully so in Alexander's case. Thomas just pressed harder, pressure building on the sensitive area. It didn’t take long for Alexander to understand that it was a pressure point. 

Thomas bent down close to Alexander’s face, sweeping him with those black eyes.   
“You forget about my medical degree, Alexander.” he laughed lightly through his nose in mild amusement, “You remember on assignments how I would…. Persuade those thugs. It was part of my job, kid.” He smiled softly in reminiscence, “I’ll enjoy the practice.” 

Alexander couldn’t believe that he was bringing up their partnership. Now.   
And when his eyes returned to Alexander’s, they darkened with a terrifying threat. 

“You think I don’t know how to hurt you?” he whispered, pressing sharper into his sensitive area, “How to torture you?”   
He finally released the pressure, letting cool air flood back into Alexander’s lungs with a gasp. He choked with strangled noises, panting to regain his breath. 

Thomas let him go, stepping back from the bed and watching him slowly rise, lifting his head. 

“You know… What I think…” Alexander coughed, sputtering out the words and turning his head to Thomas. The latter just snarled.   
“I don’t CARE, what you think, fucker.”   
Alexander ignored him. 

“You’re not doing this because of my...arrogance.” Alexander breathed, reaching up and undoing his bow tie at his throat. Thomas just stood, unbuttoning his coat and letting it fall to the floor despite its expensiveness. 

“You’re not doing this because of my behavior. Or my tongue. No.” he laughed, stripping off his own coat and staring dead into Thomas’s eyes.   
“You’re doing this because you’re jealous, Jefferson.” he spoke through tightly smirking lips, voice joyous with amusement.   
His heart soared at the LOOK on Thomas’s face. 

“You’re in a hotel room with the man you HATE… missing your speech, missing the ball because you took one look at your nemesis with another man’s tongue in his mouth and thought:… shit…” Alexander shook his head slowly, blinking patronizingly at his enemy towering above him.   
“I’m the one missing out.” he finished, pouting out his bottom lip just slightly. 

Thomas’s face remained emotionless as the only thing on him that moved was his chest, rising and falling in LIVID hatred. Alexander bit his lip, giving him mocking sad puppy-dog eyes.   
“Hm?” he pressed. And that was it. 

There was a hurricane of movement as Thomas surged forward and slammed into him, their bodies smacking together before they came crashing to the bed with a muffled ‘oof’ from Alexander. 

“HOW. DARE. YOU.” Thomas roared, dragging the small boy fully onto the bed and pinning him down with his own hips, leaping on top of him and trapping him. 

Alexander bared his teeth and spat like a wild animal.   
“BITE me, bastard.” he laughed, long hair splayed on the pristine, white sheets, “YOU know I’m right.” 

Thomas snarled, clapping a hand over his mouth to shut him up and leaning in close to his face, sucking in a deep breath so that he didn’t clock Alexander out on the spot. He’d never felt so out of control, so susceptible to his temper as he did with this… boy. 

“Fine. You know what, fine.” snapped shortly, using his other hand to undo button after button of Alex’s turn-down shirt with ferocity, popping them out of the holes. 

“You want to speak to me like that, I’ll fix it. I don’t have a FUCKING problem with that.” he spat, releasing Alexander’s mouth to tear his shirt off and throw it on the ground. 

“You want to act like a BITCHY little brat: I’m going to treat you like one.” he snarled, moving down to work at Alexander’s belt buckle, slipping it out of the loops and tossing it next to Alex’s head as he yanked his pants off. 

Alexander’s eyes darted from the belt back up to Thomas, who had his pants and boxer briefs off in five seconds flat.   
Thomas Jefferson was going to fuck him--it finally hit Alexander like a freight train. He knew he’d be right, knew that Thomas would have this primitive nature. And God, did he CRAVE more. One year without any kind of satisfaction, he was STARVING, famished. He wanted Thomas to smack him again, wanted him to spank him. He wanted him to torture him and tear him apart. So badly. 

By the time he came back to reality, Thomas was leaning over him, returning to the belt he had tossed and picking it back up. The buckle jingled in his hand as he twisted it, feeding the end through the buckle. 

“Wrists.” he barked, shaking his head in frustration and taking them by force when Alex didn’t respond in time.   
Alexander looked from him to the belt for a second, confused. And then he got it. 

The teenager barked out a high laugh, genuinely amused, “Really? Really?” he laughed, letting his head fall back against the bed with a high, melodic sigh.   
“That’s cute, Thomas.” he giggled, and he wasn’t given much time to do so.

His wish was granted as Thomas backhanded him across the mouth, holding his hand in the air while he screwed up his lips and tossed Alexander’s belt-bound wrists into the pillows over his head. He was well aware that Alex could get out of just about anything; it was what he was known for. But his ass if Alexander would even dare to slip out of this. 

“Try to get out and I’ll put that belt to another use. Don’t think I won’t do it.” He snarled, pointing a warning finger at Alexander’s red face, “Don’t test me.” he seethed, pulling back to sit heavily on the boy’s hips. 

Shit.   
Alexander felt their warm, smooth skin press together for the first time, heavy and bare. Thomas’s cock pressed warmly up against his hip, and from what he could feel, the size was considerable. The boy grunted and wiggled around a bit, testing the waters. He was stuck. And he jerked his hands around in the belt, knowing exactly how to get out and staying nevertheless. He swallowed, thinking about what Thomas would do if he freed himself. 

His cock twitched under them and he froze, knowing Thomas had felt it. He swallowed again, far too ready to be waiting this long; he never had to wait this long. He squirmed impatiently. 

“Not getting any younger, asshole.” He complained, tossing his hair out of his eyes as well as he could. He felt a large, warm hand wrap around his throat, not restricting his air, but remaining there, powerful and threatening. 

“...Sir. You will call me... sir.” Thomas spoke with a clarity and coolness unknown to man, “Is that clear?”   
His eyes were strikingly calm, slicing deep into Alexander’s. The smaller just laid there, blatantly ignoring his commands.

Thomas would have to force it out of him; it wouldn’t be THAT easy. He watched, looking up at Thomas Jefferson on top of him. His dark hair was, as always, perfectly framing his sharp face. The rest of his body was a masterpiece, abs and pecs and all of it without being that creepy body-builder-level weirdness--no thanks. And completely hairless. Completely. Clearly, he waxed; Alexander, on the other hand, was hairless because of his size and youth.  
His body was far less manly; it was the twinkish version of sexy in this pairing with his small stature, sharp hip and collarbones, and flat chest. 

Alexander scanned him over and smiled heinously when he caught sight of what he was looking for. The only blemish on Thomas’s body was a nasty, gnarly, round scar below his left collarbone. Alexander knew how he’d gotten that. He was there when it happened. 

“How’s that scar feeling, ‘sir’?” he sneered the word without the slightest hint of genuine respect. Thomas opened his mouth to retort but Alex spoke first.   
“Tell me…” he whispered squinting up at the towering man, who’s nostrils were beginning to flare with heavy, livid breaths. He smiled disgustingly up as he breathed the words laughingly, “Did it hurt?” 

Thomas stood still. He didn’t dare move.   
“In fact, it did.” he spoke clearly, holding himself back with every ounce of self control in his body. Alexander cocked an eyebrow with interest. 

The Virginian glared point-blank into his eyes as he slowly… slowly dragged his cock down Alexander’s, reaching into the drawer of the bedside table and blindly finding an unopened bottle of lube. This place was prepared. Convenient. While Alexander was distracted by the heat, he popped it open and slicked it on them both. Alexander wasn’t expecting that as his eyelids fluttered, breath hitching in his throat a bit at the friction and chilliness. Thomas relished it. 

“It took hours, Hamilton. Pity that you were already strapped to that chair within five minutes, or you would have gotten to see it.” He growled, lifting one of Alexander’s legs and putting it over his shoulder. The younger’s heart pattered rapidly, over-excited, desperate for something, anything.   
“How’d it feel?” Alex asked dirtily as Thomas took his other leg and placed it over his other shoulder. 

“Don’t remember. Blacked out.” he crawled his hands forward, dark eyes brooding over Alexander. The boy was flexible, very flexible. Despite his calm tone, there was wrath in his eyes, biting wrath. Alexander gasped and swallowed to cover it up: Thomas had just pressed the warm head of his cock to Alexander’s entrance. 

Alexander tried to look but he couldn’t see, eyes flickering back up to Thomas. The size… it was massive against his rim, larger than anything he’d ever taken before. Thomas twitched his dark, sharp brows at Alex.  
“But I do recall one thing…” he whispered, placing a hand on one side of Alexander’s head and placing the other back around his throat. His index finger nail found the crescent bruises from the night before and rubbed over them, deeply, painfully. Alex let his head fall back, suppressing the first moan. 

“The sting.” Thomas snarled slowly, and all at once, he thrust into Alexander, plunging into his tight walls. 

And Alexander screamed, head snapping backwards and slamming into the sheets. His legs pressed down on Thomas’s shoulders, pushing his body up as he writhed against the cock inside of him. Any assumptions he had about Thomas’s cock before, they were completely right. 

“Ahhh...Ahhh..” Alexander panted shakily, ribs showing as he heaved, teeth gritted, eyes squeezed painfully shut. Thomas just held his cock there, watching him struggle coldly on top of it. This was what he had been waiting for. 

“Nnng… Fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK.” Alexander hissed between his teeth, trying desperately to cope with it.   
“Shut up.” Thomas scoffed, pushing his throat down and up, pressing and holding him at that awkward angle. He pulled almost completely out and hammered home again, bottoming out and drawing another guttural scream from Alex, watching him squirm. 

“WHAT do you call me, Alexander.” he snarled between gritted teeth, watching the boy ball his bound hands into fists. He didn’t respond, just heaved labored breaths. Thomas screwed up his lips, finding the pressure points right below the ears and PRESSING, making him moan. 

This surprised him. 

He actually moaned at the pain, toes curling behind Thomas’s head and arching his back slowly off the bed. It was high and helpless and erotic on his tongue, making Thomas even harder when it ended in a sigh and a quiet “Mmmhh…” 

The man snapped out of it and spat something incoherent before rolling back his hips thrusting into those slick, tight walls. He stayed fully inside of him and pounded in the shortest little thrusts, just rubbing him in there. He knew precisely where his prostate was, and made a point not to hit it, just brush over it torturously with those tiny rubs, teasing it. 

“WHAT do you CALL me, Alexander.” he roared this time, pushing the pressure points again.   
“SIR, SIR!” Alex yelled before Thomas had even finished his words, collapsing, caving. His arms jerked against the leather belt above his head, eyes still squeezed shut. At the stretch, at the vibrating, rubbing friction

“Look me in the eyes, boy.” Thomas barked, shaking his head a bit, forcing him to look up. Alexander was--somehow--already cock-drunk, struggling to focus his eyes on Thomas’s.   
“F...Fuck you…” he managed, limp in the sheets, starting to sweat. To think that only last night he was falling asleep under Laurens's cock.

Thomas did NOT like that response.   
The man let go of his throat to place his thumb in Alexander’s mouth, breaking past his lips and receiving a growl from the small man.   
“I ordered you to address me as sir, worthless cumslut.” he snarled, pressing his thumb up under Alexander’s top lip and vibrating it side to side. The pain was one Alex didn’t even know could exist. 

“I’m sorry, sir. I-I…Auhhh...” he broke off as Thomas released his mouth, the release of pressure hurting more than the application. 

“Your repulsive lack of humility disgusts me, Alexander.” he spat in distaste, “Who the hell do you think you are?” He continued, lengthening his thrusts and not pausing for any whimpers and yelps. 

“You can’t talk to me like that. EVER again, do you understand me?” Alex mumbled something incoherently, rolling his own hips into Thomas’s for more friction, trying to coax him towards his prostate. Thomas slowed down to a crawling pace, taking away all his privileges, snatching away all his pleasure at once. 

“DO YOU hear me?” Thomas roared again.   
“Yes sir!” Alex finally confirmed kicking his legs, sticky with sweat, atop Thomas’s shoulders. Their skin slid against each other’s. 

“This is ridiculous. Do you even hear yourself?” Thomas shook his head with leering disgust, pounding deeper into Alexander, listening to the sound of his cock moving inside of him and his hips slapping against the boy. The sounds of sex filled the lavish room. He really was small--and tight… shit. The combination of Thomas’s size and Alexander’s lack of was benefitting the both of them. 

“Your blatant lack of discipline is so embarrassingly bad that I have to do all this just for you to respect your superiors.” he snarled, going off on a tangent as he pounded the boy, watching him writhe and squirm, struggling to match Thomas’s impossible pace with his own hips. His cock was rock hard against his belly, leaking precum near his naval without even being touched. Thomas could fix that. 

“Oh God… Oh fuck… FUCK!” Alexander moaned and jerked uncontrollably when Thomas suddenly grabbed a hold of his cock, using the pad of his thumb to slick precum all over the swollen head. He ghosted over the slit with a nail, making Alexander squeal and buck his hips. 

Thomas’s head snapped up, appalled.   
“Don’t you dare thrust into me without permission, bitch.” Thomas spat in shocked outrage, bringing the hand up to smack Alexander’s hip cruelly. The boy only responded with another deep, guttural moan, so Thomas slapped him again. 

“I change my mind, Alexander, you’re LUCKY I don’t have any tools with me. God, what I’d do to your filthy, pathetic whore-ass…” he trailed off nailing him ruthlessly, feverishly with his punishing cock. Alexander could feel a prominent vein on the right side… FEEL it, it was so big. 

“UGH… you say you… AUGH… You say you ha-TE ME Thomas…” Alexander sputtered, interrupting himself as Thomas toyed his cock and hammered his ass in unison, pleasure beginning to mount in his lower belly. He panted like a thirsty dog, hips stinging and raw from the beating. 

“Don’t seem to hate me so much now, do you?”  
“SHUT up.” Thomas let go of his cock roughly and surged forward, smacking his mouth onto Alexander’s. The boy hitched forward as well and moaned obscenely into his mouth. He opened his mouth wide, letting Thomas lick inside, but he soon found that Thomas’s kissing was just as gentle as his sex.

He demanded Alexander’s tongue with his own and raked his teeth over it, making the little one squeak in surprise. The noise only seemed to ignite the man, making him slam his cock into Alexander so quickly for five thrusts that his head spun dizzyingly. For a moment he gasped with a wide open mouth, eyes rolling back into his head. He was already close. 

“Shit, I’m… THOMAS I’m gonna--”  
“No you’re not.” Thomas snarled into his mouth, devouring him without mercy. Thomas bit at Alexander’s bottom lip, tearing and tugging at it ruthlessly until he left indents, and then dived back into Alexander’s mouth, exchanging an unmentionable amount of saliva. 

All Alex could do was whimper pitifully and fucking FUCK just TAKE it. And Thomas took his sweet time on toying with Alexander’s mouth. 

“You want to cum, Alexander?” he growled wetly between searing-hot, quick licks. The younger whined pitifully, doing everything in his power not to grind against Thomas’s abs.   
“You want to cum, you’re going to beg for it like the pathetic slut you are.” Thomas spat, pressing his tongue deep into Alexander’s throat and pulling it out, raking the roof of his mouth. 

“I’m sick and tired of your disgusting behavior. You want it, you’ll beg for it.” He snarled, drawing away with a sharp bite to Alexander’s delicate throat, squeezing the skin between his teeth. “Anything less and I’ll leave you like this; I don’t give two shits.” he leered, curling a lip, “And don’t think I won’t do it.” 

Alexander squeezed his eyes shut, grunting with every thrust. So close… so CLOSE to his prostate but not THERE. Thomas was playing his body like a fiddle and he was going to do it until he got what he wanted; there was no way out other than to give in. Thomas had him at his mercy, dancing at his fingertips, and this positively burned Alexander up. 

Alexander gulped over a gasp, closing his eyes HARD and arching his back, trying to urge him towards his prostate, but Thomas read him like a book. The man screwed up his lips and slapped Alexander clean across the face for the third time in one night. The “thwack!” rang through the hotel suite. 

“Don’t you dare…” he breathed dangerously quietly, making Alexander drop his back to the bed with an indignant sob. He flopped down in defeat, flustered and frustrated to the bed. His wrists were slick against the belt with sweat, and yet he still didn’t slip out. 

Thomas just watched him, completely wrecked beneath him, and parted his lips. He could still taste Alexander, and he tasted like Sprite, but now he was distracted by something else. The man curled up his lip, revealing a canine. 

“Are you… crying?” he sneered with a repulsed laugh, watching closely as Alexander heaved another body-wracking sob at the words, not even bothering to hold it in anymore. He sniffled, whimpering into the side of his arm. 

“Fucking pathetic.” Thomas spat, continuing his JUST too slow, JUST off of target pace.  
“I could do this all night, Alexander. I don’t fucking care if you cry, so tough luck.” He broke the hard truth.   
“Crying doesn’t excuse your behavior.” 

The boy just responded with a heavier sob, weeping into his arm at the pain, at the pure pleasure, at the desperation. He moved his legs on Thomas’s shoulders, trying so hard to beg for it without words. Thomas just made a face, looking Alexander up and down.

“For Christs’s sake, eyes up, you slut.” he barked, watching Alexander ruin himself beneath him. The boy sputtered and whimpered pitifully, slowly lifting his head and opening his eyes. Tears streamed from the corners into his hair, wetting his cheeks and temples. His lip quivered and he bit it before he helplessly let out a whiny moan, fighting with himself to keep his eyes open and locked with Thomas’s. 

His hips hitched, about to cum again, and Thomas slowed down, snatching the orgasm away before continuing. Alex’s little body RACKED with sobs. 

“Beg, Alexander.” Thomas growled slowly, holding his chin up with one finger to look in his watery eyes.  
“Beg.” 

Alex gritted his teeth, with a teary, “Rrrrr…” so frustrated. He looked at the modern clock on the wall above the door and he knew that Thomas wasn’t fucking around. He WOULD do this all night just to prove a point. Alex felt the imminent defeat. He only had one choice. 

“Please... ple-e-ease.” he choked uncontrollably, head falling from side to side. Thomas grabbed his jaw and held him in place so he couldn’t avoid the eye contact.   
“Please what?” he snarled, impatient. Alexander sniffled, wailing when Thomas struck his prostate head-on. Pleasure exploded inside of him, so intense it was destructive. He gasped, mouth wide open like a fish out of water. 

“Please let me cum, please, I’m gonna cum, oh God... oh God, fuck fuck FUCK!” 

“You call that a beg? Come on, Alexander, you’re humiliating yourself.”   
“PLEASE.” Alexander roared, tears leaking out as Thomas didn’t relent from his prostate. 

“PLEASE, I’m BEGGING you.” he sobbed, curling his toes behind Thomas’s head.   
“I have to cum so bad, please let me, p-p-p….” 

His head fell back, going completely limp, “Sir…” he whimpered. 

Thomas’s lips curled into a malicious smirk. There it was. 

Thomas grunted, tossing his sweaty hair out of his eyes before extending his hand to roughly grab a hold of Alexander’s painfully hard cock, pumping just the base.   
“Not until I say so, bitch.” he spat, watching Alex’s ribs flutter, his small body completely shutting down, out of control, melting all over the place. 

“You’re lucky. You’re very lucky, whore. What do we say?”   
“LET ME.” Alexander roared, frustrated and angry and just a sobbing WRECK. His strong voice broke down into pitiful little sobs again. 

Thomas was sick of his shit. Sick and tired.   
Screwing up his face in rage, he thrusted in, pressing as far as humanly possible, hitting head on his prostate. And he stayed there, unmoving. 

Alex curled his legs around Thomas’s shoulders, caterwauling right in the middle of a sob. His mouth wide open, Thomas just observed the sight as the boy started shaking, gasping sharply with high pitched breaths. 

Thomas leaned in, cock still throbbing against his prostate.   
“What. Do we. Say.” he dictated slowly and cooly. Alexander was done for.   
“P...P…” Alexander tried a couple of times, eyes drifting, whole body twitching at Thomas having stopped and HOLDING right there on his sweet spot. 

“Please…” he finally got his tongue around the word.   
As soon as the plea died on his lips, Thomas rolled his hips back, starting his motion once again, deep and hard. Alexander heaved a desperate gasp, biting his lip and choking another sob at the relief. 

When Thomas started to pump his cock again, full length, Alexander wailed, hips spasming upwards involuntarily. Never in his life… never had he felt so achingly full and so desperate to cum. It had always been a climax with other guys, no doubt. But this… this was something different. He’d never felt so needy, so starved to cum; Thomas made him WAIT for it. He edged him closer and closer, watching him melt, watching him fall apart. 

He was close. He was going to at any moment now, and Thomas held all the power in the palm of his hand. And yet he pressed him, edging him slowly closer, drawing it out as long as he pleased until he thought the boy couldn’t take it anymore. He was legitimately going to pass out. 

Thomas was finally satisfied with the punishment he had dealt him.   
“Cum, stupid slut.” Thomas growled the dirty insult right next to Alex’s ear, hot breath mingling in his sweaty hair. He licked his jawline hotly.  
“You don’t deserve my generosity.” he sneered. But Alexander didn’t hear him; he hardly heard anything at all as his back arched violently into an impossible angle, and a scream tore his throat. 

The boy convulsed brutally as he spurted cum onto his own belly, reaching all the way up to his chest. There was a significant amount that seemed to just keep coming as the boy shuddered and another wave ripped him apart, destroying him completely. 

His legs clenched around Thomas, pulling him forward so violently that he almost collapsed on top of the shivering Alexander, catching himself at the last moment. Thomas screwed up his lips in concentration, clenching his jaw sexily as he pounded impossibly fast for three more thrusts, finding his own release. 

“Ohhh… Huhhhh….” Alexander exhaled shakily, letting the shivers crash into him and cause his eyes to roll into the back of his head. His back finally collapsed to the bed again, just laying there, ruined. 

Thomas cummed inside of him, wanting Alexander to FEEL it. And it was one of the only things he could feel, Thomas realized as he pulled out and looked down on the boy. 

Thomas tossed the sweaty hair out of his eyes to take in the sights. Alexander was shaking in silent sobs, fat tears rolling down into his hair.  
Lips parted with a sigh, Thomas scooted back to sit on his heels; he'd already recovered from his orgasm. But Alexander was another story. 

Thomas watched him, bewildered; to put it lightly, he’d seen his fair share of orgasms in his life, but never--NEVER--had he seen one so devastatingly powerful. He lay on the sheets, hands bound above his head and just twitched, moaning softly under his breath and shuddered weakly. And his eyes were closed. 

For a moment, Thomas was concerned. “Fuck…” he grumbled, annoyed as he scooted forward once again to lean over Alexander. If he had fucked him unconscious, that would be inconvenient.   
Thomas grabbed him by the front of the hair, pulling his head up a bit.   
“You awake?” he drawled dryly, the boy’s wet lashed spilled tears, dripping down his chin. Thomas didn’t expect it to hit him like a punch to the gut, but shit… he was pretty like this. 

He shook him a little bit.   
“Hey.” he barked. Alexander hummed, arms twitching above his head to signal his consciousness. Good, the older one thought, remembering his wrists and leaning over Alexander’s face to take them, working at the buckle and freeing them with a grunt. 

Alexander sputtered quietly, babbling something incoherent as his head fell to the side once again. Thomas sat back down onto his heels, running a hand through his hair. Well fuck. That had just happened.  
He glanced over his shoulder to the pretty abstract clock: Ten o’ clock. What was he going to do now? Just return to the ball like he’d gone for a bathroom break? Had he missed his speech? Fucking fuck. 

Thomas let the realization of what he’d just done run him over like a semi on I-90, looking back to Alexander with a scowl. He had to get out of there. 

“Alright. Fine.” he grumbled, stepping out of the bed onto the lushly carpeted floor. He paused, thinking for a moment. How was he going to do this?   
“Don’t move.” he mumbled, not like Alex would hear it anyway, as he dug an arm up under Alexander’s knees, and his other behind his back and under his armpit. 

Alexander just hummed again, head falling back into Thomas as the man lifted him easily, a messy wet disaster of cum.   
“I’ve met fifth graders who weigh more than you.” he grumbled, carrying Alexander towards where he imagined the master bathroom would be. The boy sighed in his arms, stirring just a bit.   
“Over one hundred pounds… eat my ass…” Alexander slurred, swallowing with another long, shaky exhale.   
“I’ll pass.” Thomas sneered, wedging the door open with his foot and entering. The place was sweet, an open, marble-floor bathroom with a separate tub and shower, two sinks and a beautiful mirror. Thomas walked into the glass shower and dumped Alexander on the shower seat, cranking the knob and hearing the water hiss out, filling the large space with white noise. 

“Five minutes.” Thomas grunted, shuffling back out of the room and nudging the door closed behind him. Silence. 

Thomas scratched the back of his neck with a deep sigh, trudging over to the bed to pick up his things and find his phone. He folded his things neatly on the bed and extracted his phone from his suit pocket, swinging back onto the sheets. 

Shit. 

He unlocked his phone with face recognition but he already had seen the barrage of texts in his inbox from James.   
“Where are you, Tom?”  
“Your speech is in five minutes, where are you?” 

Thomas rubbed a hand over his face, scrolling down. Ten minutes later was the next text.   
“I did your speech for you, you imbecile. Where are you?” 

All of a sudden, the typing bubble popped up again, scaring the shit out of Thomas.   
“Fuck.” Thomas hissed through his teeth, swiping out of the tab like he’d been burned, but the message popped up with a buzz not three seconds later:  
“Where’s Hamilton…?” 

Thomas turned off his phone with a click, screen going dark and leaving him in the silence. He sat there for a very long time, contemplating. The only sound was the faint hiss of the shower and Thomas’s finger tapping on the knuckle of his other hand. What was he supposed to think of this?

He sat for a while longer, but eventually, he became vaguely aware that there was steam coming from the crack in the bathroom door. His hand darted to his phone, checking the time to see that it’d been ten minutes. 

“Little…” Thomas grumbled to himself, swinging off the bed and stiding to the bathroom. He flung open the door sticking his head inside. 

“Alexander, what in God’s name are you doing in here? I said five minutes ten minutes ago; I’m freezing my ass off.” Thomas let the words fly, irritated. A literal wall of steam hit his face, making him wince in shock before looking around. It looked an international marijuana convention in there, it was so fucking hazy. 

He grumbled, stepping inside and pulling open the glass shower door.  
Alexander was covered in suds, long hair slicked to his neck as he just soaped up casually, smiling at Thomas like he’d brought cookies. 

“Sup.”

Thomas shook his head with a bewildered smile, dumbfounded.   
“What are you doing, solving world hunger?” he looked Alex up and down. The boy barked a laugh, rubbing both hands in his hair and letting the water run through it, washing suds down his back. 

“Does it look like I’m solving world hunger?” he snorted, twisting to grab the conditioner and showing off his ribs and slim body. Thomas rolled his eyes, starting to get goosebumps.   
“Move over.” he grumbled, stepping inside and occupying the space under the showerhead while Alex was busy getting the conditioner. 

He turned back around, bottle in hand, and looked Thomas up and down.   
He paused, “Hey.” the boy tried to take his spot back, pushing into Thomas. Their wet, slippery skin slid against each other. 

“Get out, you had your turn.” 

“What? You don’t wanna share?” Alexander purred, suddenly wrapping his arms around Thomas’s neck and pushing him against the glass wall. Before the man could even comprehend the pure NERVE of Alex, the boy was leaning in, licking at his lips. Thomas immediately reached his hand to pinch at one of Alex’s nipples twisting it sharply. 

“Ow!” The boy jerked, jumping back, hand protectively over his wet chest, he snarled, stringy wet hair hanging around his face, “What the fuck was that?” he scoffed, looking down to check the damage. Thomas just scowled impatiently, kicking open the shower door. 

“What the hell makes you think you can touch me?”  
“Uh, I don’t know, Thomas.” Alexander gestured sarcastically at him, water streaming from his long hair, “Maybe that you just cummed in my ass?” 

Thomas snarled, pushing him towards the exit by the scruff of the neck.   
“No.”   
“No? Just no? Wow, real eloquent reasoning there, buddy.” But Thomas had already reached around, grabbed a towel, and chucked it at his face.   
“Out.” he commanded, watching Alexander sputter and untangle himself before closing the door again. Bitch. 

The Virginian washed in the blissful silence, rinsing quickly yet thoroughly before stepping out to look at himself in front of the wide mirror. He sniffed, rubbing the towel over his head and drying it, tossing his hair back and slicking it down. With a deep breath he pulled himself together. This was going to be fine if he got his head on straight. He could go back to the ball, say goodnight to everyone, go home, and resume training as normal. Sure it would be with Alexander, but he’d find a way to forget this shitshow of a night ever happened. 

Towel wrapped around his waist, Thomas stepped out of the steamy bathroom with a sniff, the dry chill of the rest of the hotel room shocking his lungs. But that wasn’t comparable to what he saw on the bed. 

His breath hitched in his throat and he swallowed. Holy shit. Something in his gut stirred and he couldn’t tell if the feeling was pleasant or horrible.

Alexander sat, well postured, chin up, just holding his gun and tilting it in his hand with curiosity, seemingly not seeing him yet. But that wasn’t even half it; the kid was wrapped in nothing but Thomas’s tuxedo jacket, oversized and draped around him like a king’s robes. And a bowtie. Nothing else other than that. 

Thomas wanted to scream in exhausted frustration. So this was a mental game beginning, Thomas realized clearly. Alex was trying to throw him off because the bitch was about to play mind games with him. God, had he been here before. 

Thomas swallowed again, dark eyes flashing up at him. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” He spoke clearly. Alexander’s head darting up, a smile immediately jumping to his face. And in the dim light… There just was something not right about the look in his eyes. 

“Ay, Thomas.” He grinned, “Your clothes are over here if you’re looking for them.” he pointed lazily with the gun in one hand, picking at the nails casually on the other. Thomas didn’t move, just stood, dumbstruck. 

“Get your sticky fingers off my stuff, Hamilton.” he sneered, then realized the true lunacy of the situation, “Why are you even still here?”  
Alexander furrowed his brows and looked around, confused, “Where did you think I’d be? Kansas?” 

Thomas gritted his teeth, “Your own hotel room.” he strained between them. 

Alex shrugged with a frown, “Not an option.” he dictated, eyes following Thomas as the man began to circle slowly, slowly towards the bed. Thomas’s eyes flashed. 

“And that’s supposed to mean what, exactly?” he spat. Alexander shuffled against the pillows like he was trying to get more comfortable, sitting up taller. He smirked up at Thomas as the man neared, tapping the muzzle gently against the inside of his forearm. Thomas didn’t get it. 

“Tracker, baby boy.” he laughed lightly, watching Thomas pick his pants and boxers off the floor without letting Alexander out of his sight, slowly and quietly pulling them on. Alexander leaned back in the pillows.   
“Cinderella’s gotta be home by midnight.” he put his wrist back down letting the gun settle casually in his lap with a light smile on his curvy lips. 

Thomas never let Alexander’s eyes out of his sight.   
“What the hell does your curfew have to do with me?” Thomas spoke collectedly, straightening his waistband, he finished and let his cold eyes find his rival's. He sighed exhaustedly. 

“Put down the gun, Alexander.” he whispered cooly.   
Alexander cocked his head and inhaled between clenched teeth, “Ooh, yeah not gonna do that one, buddy.” he shook his head almost sympathetically like he was sorry.   
“Alexander.” Thomas responded immediately after. Stopping his movement to stand at the foot of the bed.   
“Put the gun. Down.” 

Alexander just stared at him in the semi-darkness, eyes glittering in the low light. He didn’t respond as Thomas just loomed menacingly at the end of the bed. But as for power, they were in a stalemate. They always ended up here somehow. 

After some time of silent tension Alexander popped the magazine fully in with a ‘clack’, and Thomas didn’t move, but a darkness passed over his eyes, shadowing his face. 

“Why do you do this, Alexander? I’d have a hell of a lot more respect for you if you didn’t wave guns in my face every hour. “  
“Oh really?”  
“Really. It’s fucking ridiculous, Hamilton.”   
“You’d have respect for me?” he laughed with a snort, “That was a good bedtime story. Can I have another?”  
Thomas didn’t laugh. He wasn’t amused. Alexander sensed Thomas’s lack of patience and got to his point. 

“I want to have a little chat with you, Thomas.”   
“I wish the feeling was mutual.” the man snarled right back, curling a lip as he began to circle again, coming around the side of the bed towards Alex. Alexander just squinted and smiled with a little hum. 

“Why don’t you take a seat.” he whispered politely, gesturing to the edge of the bed with the muzzle. Thomas’s emotionless eyes glinted. He didn’t move, refusing to fall under the command of this psychopath. Who in fuck’s name did he think he was. This was ridiculous. 

Alexander just twitched a brow, settling the gun up on his bare knee. Thomas watched as he swirled his finger lightly over the trigger.   
“You’re despicable.” he spat under his breath seething, livid as he lowered himself to sit on the bed. The little one just laughed.   
“Maybe.” He shrugged with a considerate frown, “But oh, is it FUN.” he breathed with a relishing shake of his head. Thomas felt sick. 

“What do you want? And put the gun, DOWN, jackass, it’s not a toy.” Thomas fumed, holding his temper down expertly.   
“I just have a few questions.” Alex nodded, but was surprised when Thomas blurted out a high laugh, brows flicking downwards for a moment.   
“And why the hell do you think I’ll answer them?” he spoke in genuine amusement. 

Alexander’s lip twitched as his face remained lighthearted and pleasant. The sharp, clear click of the glock cocking split the silence in the room.   
Thomas’s eyes darted from the gun to Alexander’s face, snorting lightly.   
“Shoot me, Alexander.” he whispered, squinting fondly as he hummed, “Your fingerprints will be allllll over that.” he purred. 

“Not once I get rid of it; it’s just a stupid 45. But we're not going there, Thomas, just answer a few of my questions about my arrest.” 

His voice echoed into silence. Thomas just stared at him, features exaggerated in the dark, the bowtie smartly around his throat.  
How could someone appear so sickly dangerous and yet so provocatively attractive at the same time? Those cheekbones… those collarbones just barely peeking out of the jacket that was Thomas’s. He had the sudden urge to surge forward and give them some attention… he swallowed it down. 

“I’ll answer without the gun in my face, thank you.” he drawled, glowering in hatred.   
“It’s not a threat, Thomas.” Alexander ensured with a comforting nod, “I just miss the feeling. I’m a sniper, Jefferson, by profession. And I haven’t touched a weapon in a year; you can’t imagine how that feels.” 

Thomas didn’t want to do it, to get wrapped up in his games. He wanted this to be over with so he could discard the bastard here and join the ball. Go home. Get prepared for training the following day. The man shook his head and didn’t question what Alexander had just said. 

“What. Do you want. To know.” he clipped, enunciating on ever consonant between gritted teeth. Alexander let the question burst from his mouth as if it had been revving up its engine on the tip of his tongue--uncharacteristic of the boy. 

“How did you manage to send me to the asylum without my presence at trial?” he blurted. Thomas’s face remained stony in the dark. He waited a beat of silence before he provided his answer.   
“If one was proven too mentally ill or dangerous to attend the trial, they needn’t attend. My proof was the bullet in my shoulder.”   
“You lying bastard.” Alexander immediately spat before he’d even finished.   
“Murderer.”  
“Hey, I’m doing the talking.” Alexander raised his voice just slightly, cutting Thomas off and watching the man begin to breathe livid breaths, belly bare. Alexander scanned him up and down. 

“How did you convict me at the trial?”  
“Why didn’t they didn’t tell you this?”   
“For the last time, pretty boy, I ask the questions.” he repeated, voice getting firmer despite his inferior appearance. Thomas released a rumbling, primitive growl from deep inside his chest. It took him nearly twenty seconds to answer. 

“The extracted bullet matched the ones in your signature gun.”   
“And you know why it did, bastard.” Alex spat under his breath, “You KNOW why, goddamnit.” He raised his voice, but Thomas had already had his fill. 

The older man surged forward, skilfully disarming Alexander in a fraction of a second. The gun came flying out of his hand and skidding with a clatter to the corner of the room.   
Thomas took the spare time from the shock to growl, slamming and pinning Alexander to the bed with his hands beside his head. 

When the whirlwind of movement finally died down with nothing but heavy breathing, Thomas realized that Alexander was… laughing. 

“Ah… Thomas, Thomas, Thomas…” He tut-tutted, a bit breathless as he smiled up into his enemy's face. Thomas just held him, breathing heavily through his nose despite his marble-cool facade.   
“You really are the greatest horse’s ass of the century.” 

“Care to elaborate on that?” Thomas grumbled, pressing with his nails right below Alexander’s thumb until it hurt like a motherfucker.   
“So you--a witness on that day that I killed Randolph and HE shot YOU with MY gun--knowingly gave false information in court… JUST to convict ME. You knew it was bullshit, but you knew it would get me thrown in that chair so you just said fuck it.” Alexander laughed as if this was the funniest joke he’d heard in a long time. 

“Damn you, Thomas… And you call ME the psychopath.” 

“Shut up.” Thomas spat, hushing Alexander up, “My turn, fucker.” The larger relented from his pressure points, hearing Alexander hiss.

“Why now, Alexander? Why ask this now?” he snarled. Alexander opened his mouth but Thomas shook his head, “I’m not finished.” Alexander closed it.  
“Is this your goal? Huh? Get me in bed and ask all the questions? Is that it?” He scoffed, curling a lip in repulsion.   
“You disgust me, Alexander.” 

“When did I say this is the reason I wanted to screw with you?” Alexander retorted, scowling when Thomas faltered for a moment, “That’s what I thought.”   
“Why.” 

Alex paused. 

“What?”  
“Why, Alexander? Why let me take what I want from you? Why pull all this bullshit,” Thomas gestured with his head to their aggressive stance, to their standoff of hatred. He paused, going quiet.   
“When all you were saying to me TEN minutes ago was ‘yes’?” 

Alex went quiet, nothing showing on his attractive young face. Thomas tried not to let it distract him, not now of all times. But God, the eyes… the cheekbones… those dark lips. The little one swallowed. 

“What if I told you I was horny.”   
“I wouldn’t believe you.” 

Alexander frowned, genuinely intrigued. This would be interesting. He had time, midnight wasn’t for a bit.   
“Why?”  
“Other teenagers get ‘horny’, Alexander. You, however, don’t do anything without malintent.”   
“A pessimist, are you?”   
“A realist.” Thomas sneered seamlessly.   
“A cynic.” Alexander responded with a light laugh. 

Thomas scanned his face up and down, searching him for his true intent. There was nothing about the boy that wasn’t suspicious, and Thomas couldn’t figure him out; it was maddening. The kid just sighed in deep satisfaction, content. 

“It takes a lot to intrigue me, Agent Jefferson.” Alexander began as if at the beginning of a novel… and slowly, just barely pressed his pelvis up against his captor’s. Thomas listened in, searching those brown eyes for any hint of truth.   
“And you, Agent Jefferson, intrigue me.” 

“Flattered.” Thomas scoffed dryly, not impressed, “So due to my intrigue you want my cock in your ass?” he mocked, exemplifying the ridiculousness of that notion.   
“Due to your qualities, sir.” Alexander replied charmingly, cunningly. He saw Thomas’s eyes flicker in a moment of hunger, hearing the proper address for him. 

“Qualities?” Thomas demanded elaboration.   
“Qualities.” Alexander affirmed, going on, “So I find myself repulsed by the vanilla bullshit I get from anyone else.” He sighed as if bored, dwelling on the memory of the sex style he despised, “And I seem to have found satisfaction on the first try--”

“I’m not here to satisfy you, bastard.” Thomas spat, louder and harsher than he’d been in a bit. Alexander jumped at first but felt a smirk tugging at his lips, seeing Thomas begin to get riled up and prickle with anger. Thomas’s bare belly fluttered warmly against his own in heavy breaths, making Alex struggle not to bite his lip in lust. The young boy’s stamina was amazing, he thought. He could go for round two. Or three. But Thomas was angry. 

“I don’t give a rat’s ass about your satisfaction.” Thomas snarled, “Everything I did was to show you some goddamn consequences for acting like a pathetic child.”   
“I am a child, Jefferson.” Alex burst out a high, sarcastic laugh, mocking him. Thomas’s eyes darkened at the mockery, but the boy continued, “You just dicked up a teenager six years younger than you, you realize that, right?”   
“Five.”  
“Six. When you were a legal adult, I was in elementary school; how does that sound for ya?”  
“Does your fucking nonsense have a point or can you just shut up?” Thomas scoffed, finished with his banter. 

“It does have a point, smart-mouth. My point is that you’re gonna have to learn to live like this, pretty boy. Tough luck, but the truth hurts.” Alexander shook his head slowly, parting his lips.   
“One more day and you’re not getting away from me for God knows how long. Hotel rooms, on the road, cars, planes. It’s allllll me, sweetie.” Alexander went on, smiling softly. 

“We’re not friends, Jefferson. I don’t like you.” he shrugged dryly, “but we’re assignment partners in twenty-six hours time. And if you can’t handle dealing with me… well…” Alexander shrugged beneath Thomas, looking up into that hovering face with a smile, “Well, the truth is, I really don’t care.” 

“Excuse me…” Thomas whispered quietly with a dangerous note in his voice. Alex just nodded.   
“You heard me. I don’t care.” He shook his head with a casual frown, making Thomas’s lip twitch with pent up outrage, “You don’t like my ‘attitude’? That’s a you-problem, buddy. Tough love.” He smiled condescendingly up at him, knowing he was riling him up. 

“Nothing can change my--how did you put it?--’blatant lack of discipline’. And you’re going to have to suck it up and deal with it because you’re going to be getting a whollllle lot of Alexander for the next few months.” Alexander quoted, but Thomas was not reflecting his light mood. In fact… he was brooding wrathful hatred. 

“Oh…” Thomas breathed darkly, pressing once again into those pressure points in the palm, relishing in the surprised gasp it drew from the boy, “I beg to differ…” he watched carefully, face screwed up as he applied just the pressure he knew would provide maximum pain without injuring him. 

Alexander snarled sharply like a rabid dog, trying to buck his hips under Thomas, but just pushing against the man’s belly futilely. Thomas held his fingers there, torturing Alexander methodically as the boy’s growl broke into a full out guttural wail, writhing beneath him now, clenching his hands over Thomas’s which Thomas knew would only increase the pain. 

“Had enough yet?” Thomas spoke calmly, feeling the boy squirm beneath him, growling and whimpering in pain.   
“Yes! Yes, yes, please!” he panted through breathless gasps, inhaling sharply when Thomas released. The movement died down to a halt. The larger man watched him now, panting shakily as he tried to come back down to earth. When he looked up, cheeks burning with humiliation, he saw Thomas shaking his head slowly. 

“So I see we come no closer to consensus.”  
“What is that supposed to mean?” Alexander spat under his breath, cheeks still raging red from being humiliated so easily by his senior. 

“Still think I can’t humble your insufferable ego? Because I just fucking did.”   
“Not in the slightest, pansy-ass.”   
“Then you’re a fool.” Thomas retorted with full confidence in his voice. Alexander was playing a dangerous game with him that he didn’t even know he was playing. And he was going to get burned. 

“Well. Agree to disagree.” Alex shrugged casually under Thomas.   
“Mm.” The man grunted, not responding. Playing with fire, Alexander. Playing with fire. Alexander was right, nevertheless. His little speech had forced Thomas to think about what he’d been actively ignoring: their mission time. He’d be with Alexander around the clock for who the fuck knows how long.

For a long time, the two just stared at each other, eyes locked in a tense standoff. Alexander couldn’t decide if the tension between them was dangerous, hatred-fueled, or sexual. His eyes darted between those black, hungry ones. All three at once, he decided. The best kind. 

“Planning on letting me go, or should we just marry?” The boy broke the silence with another snarky joke.   
Thomas screwed up his lips and threw down Alexander’s hands in disgust. 

“Shut up, filth.” he mumbled disgruntledly under his breath, retracting from Alexander.   
“I know a good priest.” Alex called after him.   
“Shut it.” Thomas grumbled again, bending down to pick up his belt from the floor and feed it through the loops. The buckle jingle as he fastened it. 

“And give me my jacket.” he requested as he found his shoes at the foot of the bed, “The hell are you even wearing it?”   
“A number of reasons. Big. Warm. Soft. Expensive.” By the time he had finished, Thomas had already shot him a knife-sharp look that meant, “give me the jaket. Now.” 

“Jeez.” Alex grumbled, stripping it off and tossing it through the air. He now wore nothing but a bowtie, and Thomas had to avert his eyes with a slight cough. That was quite the sight. The two collected their clothes and dressed, both decked out in tuxedos once again when they were done. 

Thomas sniffed and checked his phone, now sitting at the kitchen table on a contemporary style stool. When he’d finished checking all of his inboxes, he stood, tossing his key card on the kitchen counter. 

“You can have the place; I’m going home.” he grumbled, scooting the chair back to stand. Alex just slid his heel into his shoe and sat back up, making a face.   
“Did I not literally just say that I have to be at headquarters by midnight?” 

Oh. Yeah.   
Thomas had forgotten. He glanced over his head at the pretty clock, checking the time. With the city traffic and the drive, Hamilton would have to leave right now.   
“Well, you gotta leave right now, kid.” he sniffed, picking back up the key and tucking it in his breast pocket, “Good luck with that.” he turned away as if to leave. But the voice stopped him. 

“As I recall, the Nightcrawler has two seats.” Alex shrugged, sliding off the bed and brushing himself off cockily. He hopped down the two steps, hair bouncing over his shoulders. Thomas froze, legitimately confused. 

“Water ain’t wet.” Thomas spoke, slapping his hands on the gun and picking it up off the marble counter.   
“Huh?”  
“Oh sorry, thought we were saying obvious shit that doesn’t fucking matter.” Thomas tucked the gun safely in his jacket.   
“Hey.” Alex snapped, approaching him with a stride, “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”   
“Headquarters, you ass, are you deaf?”   
Alexander scoffed incredulously, gesturing at Thomas, “You can’t just leave me here.”  
“Fucking watch me.” Thomas sneered, pushing the door open to reveal the hallway. Alexander snagged the cuff of his sleeve, yanking him around. 

Thomas whirled to face Alex, fuming.   
“Don’t touch me.” he spat, disgusted. Alexander didn’t back down, just tried to stand taller despite the hopeless height difference. 

“Take me with you.”   
“Why should I? I hate you, and I don’t have to deal with you.” he snarled dryly, shaking his head in annoyance and turning away. 

“Likewise. But first of all, if my tracker senses that I never got home, they’ll come find me. And where will I be? In Thomas Jefferson’s hotel room with his key card. Now what do you think that looks like?” Alex spoke to Thomas’s back. 

The man lurched to a stop, not facing Alex yet. He paused.  
The little one just smirked lightly, his point coming through. 

“Then I go straight back to detainment and our mission is terminated. Even your stupid ass can see the cons to that one, Jefferson.”   
His fists clenched slowly to fists at his sides. 

“How about some pros. The bureau sees you leaving with me tonight, what kind of pretty picture does that paint, hm?” The boy fired point after point, striking down all of Thomas’s doubts. Alex squinted and shook his head, relishing in the thought. 

“Agents Jefferson and Hamilton reconcile at the bureau ball and present a strong pairing once again.” He orated.   
“That’s bullshit.”  
“Ahh, but it’ll look pretty.” Alexander countered. 

Thomas didn’t speak, still not facing him. He didn’t even seem to be breathing. Time seemed to tick by, slipping through their fingers.   
“And I won’t come near you all of tomorrow.” The sniper finally added on another incentive. 

A smile slowly spread across the boy’s face when Thomas turned around ebony eyes flashing beneath attractive, dark brows.  
He twitched them, sweeping Alexander up and down emotionlessly.   
“Shall we?” he gestured for Alex to follow. 

**

Heads turned slowly, almost in slow motion.   
Necks craned to see over one another at the sudden buzz of activity. Whispers broke out as the boys glided, stride-in-stride with one another, through the ballroom. 

Even over the peaceful music and the sophisticated clink of knives on crystal plates, jaws dropped at the sight as if mesmerized, entranced . One that hadn’t been seen in a year, and even a year ago people would’ve dropped dead to see. 

Agent Jefferson and Agent Hamilton, in the flesh. Matched step for step as they held their chins high in the air, quite aware of their positions. Quite aware of their status. How long it had been. 

Thomas kept his eyes straight ahead, but he could see the people watching them. He could see the bewildered parted lips, the smirks in the crowd, and oh, did he relish it. Back in the game. Back at the wheel, Thomas thought cockily, lips twitching into a smirk. 

They neared the exit and could already hear the deep bass and subwoofer of his Lambo, pulled up front and blasting CAPO by NLE Choppa with the best quality on the market. Their footfalls fell innately to the beat of the music, which tends to happen. Alexander gave Thomas a sideways glance and smirked devilishly. 

“Big smile, Jefferson. Happy?” Thomas didn’t glance down at the boy, but held his head.   
“Quite.” he allowed Alexander this brief moment of satisfaction, tossing his chin in the air as they strolled out into the front of the resort, people buzzing in excitement behind them. 

The Lamborghini Veneno rumbled out front, sparkling, dark, dangerous, and beautiful in front of the lit fountain. Alexander rounded the front and opened the door for himself, sliding into the seat with a rush of remembrance and familiarity. It must have only been yesterday…

The car still smelled new; it always somehow did. Alexander peeked curiously inside the glove box as Thomas retrieved the keys, pulling it open and peering within. His face broke into a smile at the sight. 

“What?” Thomas monotoned, swinging into the car and closing the door with extreme care.   
“You never took out the rig for my guns, Thomas?” he grinned with an open mouth up at him, almost touched.   
“How thoughtful.”   
“Thoughtless, actually.” Thomas sniffed, flicking his shades out of his pocket and setting them cooly onto his face. Alexander’s stomach dropped a bit. Shit, he was hot. He was really fucking hot.   
“Never got around to it.” he shrugged, gliding the wheel with one palm and leaning back comfortably into his custom seat, which reminded Alexander. 

The boy leaned back in his own seat, and as soon as he did, his mouth fell open. No way.   
He slowly… slowly turned his head to Thomas, lips parted in a sly little smile. 

“Never took out my custom seat either?” He questioned over the epic music with a raised eyebrow, “Curious…” he breathed, settling his hips back into it comfortably and biting his lip.   
“Don’t flatter yourself, kid; you know how hard it is to take out a Lamborghini seat?” 

“No no, not flattering myself.” Alexander dismissed lightly as they glided out, engine roaring beautifully. Yet Alexander was still smirking to himself when they reached the road and Thomas FLOORED it, the car whining epicly as it bolted forward, going from zero to sixty in 2.5 seconds. 

Alexander nearly got hard at the feeling, it was orgasmic, just looking over across the center console at Thomas. Music booming epically into the night, windows rolled down and tousled his hair with city air, Thomas Jefferson swerving the Lambo. Alexander hadn’t felt like this in a long time. 

He watched Thomas operate the wheel professionally, drifting them into the next lane, streaking past and weaving between other cars. His eyes behind those shades were stormy; his body had never looked so perfectly delicious in a tuxedo. 

Indeed, Alexander thought, leaning back into the seat with a malicious smirk, listening to the engine roar. He hadn’t felt like this in a long… long time. 

And as they streaked through the crisp city night, headlights blurring past, neither had any idea that they were being watched…. 

Neither had any idea of the curtain that swished closed on a bottom level apartment as they streaked by, the man scurrying to the long outdated home phone and turning the crunchy dial hastily, wheezing with asthma. Whispering under his greasy breath, 

"Get me the boss. Matte black Lamborghini Veneno. Two passengers..."


	7. My Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, loves!! I appreciate all of your support! 😄❤️

Alexander leaned forward in his seat, catching sight of a glowing sign against the night sky. He parted his lips, watching as it passed by and peering at it behind them, twisting in his seat. 

“Hey Thomas, can we get Panera?” he piped up, still looking at the sign streak by, almost mesmerized as his mouth watered. For a moment, Thomas tried to comprehend what he’d just heard. He made a face and did a double take, eyebrows swooping down incredulously. 

“Wh--No we’re not getting Panera. The fuck?”   
“I’m hungry.” 

Thomas looked back to the road, face still contorted in confusion, and then he looked back at Alex, the small boy lounging lazily in his seat.   
“Are you aware that the universe doesn’t revolve around you, dipshit?” He spat, swerving around a grey sedan, “We have just enough time to get your ass back to headquarters; I don’t give a monkey’s left nut if you’re hungry.” 

“Fine. I’ll just sit here and starve.” Alex spat whiningly.   
“Do that.”   
“Fine.” 

Alexandr crossed his arms indignantly, staring out the window, firmly looking away from Thomas for a few moments of silence.   
“You’re right, we should probably just get back. Your stupid car’s too slow to take any stops anyway.” Alexander grumbled to himself, shrugging. 

Thomas’s head whipped to the side. 

**

“Do you want the full order or the half?”  
“Full.” Alexander kept his eyes on the menu board above the register, scanning the options one more time as the lady tapped on the tablet. 

“And what will your father have?” she monotoned, clearly just tired and ready to go home. But Alexander’s lips parted, spreading slowly into a grin as he turned to look over his shoulder.   
“Yeah, my dad’s just gonna have whatever protein shake you have that’s gluten-free, dairy-free, vegan, nonfat, zero cal--”  
“I’m. Good.” Thomas clipped between teeth clenched so hard they could shatter. He looked at Alexander like he was going to blow a capillary if they weren’t in public. 

Alexander shrugged.   
“Yeah nothing for him.” he beamed up at the lady. She sighed, tapping in their order. Thomas wasn’t going to sit back, however. The little bitch got his own treatment too. He cleared his throat. 

“It says that under sixteen eat half off on Saturdays?” Thomas tossed his chin in the air, stepping forward and placing both large, warm hands on Alexander’s shoulders. The woman wiped a hand over her brow, looking up to them.   
“I already deducted half from your order, sir.” She drawled, making Thomas’s lips twitch into a smirk.   
“Thank you.” he smiled sweetly back, feeling Alexander try to squirm away from him, but Thomas had his shoulders tight, not letting him go until they had finished paying. Finally, Alexander shrugged him off, huffing and strolling away to find a table. Thomas just chuckled coming up right behind him. 

“Hey sport, what’s the matter?” Thomas snickered as Alex yanked a chair back, groaning across the floor before he sat down.   
“Stuff it, Thomas.”  
“That’s no way to speak to your father.”  
"Go eat a bag of dicks. Fuck you.”  
“You’d like to, wouldn’t you, sunshine.”  
Alexander could only mock the look on his face childishly before shaking his head with a disgusted scoff. Thomas just unbuttoned his tuxedo, leaning back in his seat with a deep sigh. 

“Ahhh… so you thought she meant I looked old?” He snorted, “You just look like a high school freshman.”   
“So I’ve been told.” Alexander leaned back as well, locking his eyes with Thomas’s dark ones while he propped his feet, one by one up on the table, nudging aside the napkin dispenser which was in his way. 

Thomas just looked from him to his shoes. Then back to him.   
“Get your filthy shoes off the table.” he sneered with a glare. Alexander crossed his arms.   
“These are brand new; you’ll live, rich boy.” He snorted with a light eye roll. Thomas slowly lowered his shades from his eyes, tucking them inside of his front pocket. 

“Don’t roll your eyes at me.”  
“Don’t tell me what to do.” Alex fired back with the same tone, nodding up to the waitress as she brought their food and set it down in front of Alexander, reciting his order to make sure everything was right while Thomas just sat there, blood boiling in annoyance. The boy was lucky she showed up right then because Thomas was prepared to go off on his ass right there in public. Alexander flashed her a smile as she drifted away through the empty tables. Finally he sighed, eyes falling back on Thomas, and OH. He was NOT happy. 

“What were you saying, Alexander?” he spoke cooly, twitching a brow across the table and giving the boy a change to check himself. Alex just shrugged, placing his feet on the tile floor, but this time on his own terms. He leaned forward and scooted his chair in.   
“Probably that I fucking love paninis. You want an apple, man?” he threw it, and Thomas caught it one-handed over his shoulder with lightning reflexes, eyes never straying from Alexander’s as he tossed it once in the air and bit a chunk out of it with a crisp crunching sound. He showed off his canines as he did so, cocking an eyebrow in a “don’t test me” sort of way. Alexander laughed lightly out of his nose, looking down to pick up his food. 

Thomas leaned back in his seat stiffly, begging for this to be over with soon. God, what he would give to be in bed right now. Or working out right now. Hell, what he’d give to dump this little twat-waffle right here and go home. He tapped his knuckles on his knee, glancing out the windows facing the empty parking lot, cars streaking by on the highway outside. 

As he waited there in the silence, It was actually kind of peaceful watching them all go by at blurring speeds. Alexander had his mouth full so he wasn’t tormenting Thomas. This could be okay. 

Until a car swung around the corner of the vacant parking lot, flashing its headlights straight into the building. 

“Fuck!-In the name of Christ.” Thomas spat under his breath, squinting and wincing at the glare. Alexander took a swig of water, squinting as well against the blinding brights.   
“Fucking jackass.” Thomas grumbled, watching them slowly… slowly pull around the front of the building. He shook his head in disgust, squinted harder, wanting to see the moron that was driving, but…. His stomach plummeted a mile inside of him with an icy splash instead. 

His heart lurched. 

The car was a black sedan with tinted windows. And it was moving far too slowly in front of the building, just idling with a vibrating engine. Thomas’s fingers twitched, heart beginning to thump just a little harder in his chest. He cleared his throat. 

“Alexander, look at the sedan out front.” he kept his eyes on it, addressing Alexander quietly. The boy picked up on his tiny note of urgency in his voice, looking up from his dinner. He set down his fork soundlessly on the table, wiping his mouth once with a napkin and laying it down too. 

“And…?” he spoke as if trying to brush it off, but as Thomas’s eyes darted to Alexander’s he could see the flicker of wariness.   
“And…” Thomas continued as if talking to a five-year-old, “I don't like the look of it. Let's go.”   
“Buddy. Relax.” Alexander forced a high, nervous laugh, leaning back in his seat and tossing his long hair away, “They pulled away.”

Sure enough the vehicle crawled out of sight, taking its blinding lights with it. Thomas felt himself relax, but the creeping anxiety was making the hair on the back of his neck raise. He thought he could ignore it, but it got worse, sending shivers up his spine. This was enough. He shook his head, brows pulling in. 

The man looked over at Alexander. 

“...No, something’s not right.” he buttoned the jacket of his tuxedo, craning around outside for any sign of movement. Alexander made a face, laughing again.  
“The fuck are you being so paranoid, dude?”   
“Hey. Shut up, smartass. I go with my gut, and my gut says get the fuck out of here. So pack your crap.”   
Alexander’s brows swooped down at the harsh language, sensing that Thomas seriously had a bad feeling about this. 

“Whatever, I’m done anyway…” He grumbled, tossing his napkin onto the plate. 

The teenager’s voice trailed off and fizzled out, his tongue going numb. The words died on his lips, whispering out, and his mouth was suddenly very, VERY dry.   
His eyes flicked to Thomas’s hand, drifting gradually up to rest his fingertips just inside the lapels of his tuxedo, staying there. His eyes were as wide as dinner plates. 

The sedan had come around again, slower this time, and had backed into a parking space right in front of the window, blocking the route to the Nightcrawler. 

“Thomas…” Alexander breathed, remaining completely calm. The man didn’t so much as even look at him. His dark, pitch eyes were locked on the sedan. Alex heard two doors slam shut, and Thomas’s lips parted.   
“Two men.” he listed, eyes darting back and forth over the scene, scanning it, deducting from it, “They’re coming up to the door.”  
“Thomas…” Alexander spoke, voice wavering a bit this time with urgency, “Give me your gun.” 

The Virginian swallowed beneath his bowtie, eyes flickering nervously at the approaching men. They were armed. Both looked similar, bald, gruff, one taller than the other. But it didn’t matter at this point; Thomas had another ultimatum on his hands. 

Alexander could see the panic in his partner’s eyes, but the nervous impatience in his own was growing too. Why wouldn’t he just give him the gun!  
“Thomas, I’m not fucking around. Give me your gun.” his voice was dead serious, and yet Thomas didn’t move; he didn’t even look at him. The Virginian wrapped his fingers around the cold grip of his glock, squeezing it tightly as his heart hammered against his suit. 

Alexander looked from the door to Thomas, panic mounting in his movements, “Thomas!” he hissed between clenched teeth, urgency brimming over the breaking point. But it was too late.   
A gunshot banged through the restaurant, screaming by and shattering the window into a million, exploding shards that showered to the floor. 

Thomas bolted to his feet in a millisecond, chair skidding backwards across the floor and toppling over with a crash. “GET DOWN!” Thomas boomed to the lady at the counter, whipping out his gun sharply and pulling the trigger, firing it twice with a “PANG! PANG!” that zinged off of the wall behind the men, erupting some drywall. The woman shrieked and screamed hysterically, trying to bust back into the kitchen for shelter.

All hell had broken loose in a fraction of a second. 

The men advanced with swift strides, the second one pulling out his own gun from his fluttering suit.   
“ALEXANDER STAY BACK.” Thomas spat, holding his gun out in front of him with both hands, and whipping his head from the men to the boy, hair flinging wildly, but it was no use. 

Alexander roared ferociously, pushing off his chair and lunging towards the first man; he’d abandoned his efforts to get a weapon from Thomas. He’d have to do everything by himself, like always.   
“ALEXANDER!” Thomas roared. He ignored him.   
With his leather belt in his hands, Alexander gritted his teeth and smacked into the first man, looping the belt around his wrists and using the momentum and strength in his body to twist his wrists one way with a grunt of effort and then jerk the other, disarming him cleanly. Alex dropped the belt clattering to the floor and fumbled to catch the gun as it fell. He snatched it up, ducking under a whistling fist that just barely ghosted over his left ear, grazing his hair. The man was far his superior in size and Alexander straightened back up, head whipping from side to side as he decided what to do. 

He could hear the grunts, growls, and snarls of rage as Thomas fist-fought with the taller man, who was losing. And badly. Thoumas caught him with a filthy uppercut that sent blood spraying from the other man’s mouth onto Thomas’s clean tux. 

Alexander turned his attention back to his attacker--heart hammering-- and bared his teeth, snarling in warning.   
“You have one chance before I fucking kill you.”   
The man gritted his yellow, gapped teeth, eyes flashing. “Shut your mouth boy.” he spat, making Alexander’s blood spike with wrath. Alex cocked the pistol, aiming right between his eyes with his steady hand. But the man’s head suddenly snapped to the side, a sickening crack following. The man crumpled to the floor with a thud, groaning in a collapsed heap at Alexander’s feet. 

Alexander’s jaw dropped, eyes flicking from the man to Thomas, who had flown out of nowhere and clocked him out with a blood-smeared fist, and for some reason, it infuriated him. Alex screwed up his lips and spat, “I had him!”   
Thomas didn’t answer, just shot out the arm that wasn’t grasping his glock and yanked Alexander’s shirt collar, dragging him towards the door.   
“Go, Alexander, get to the car and stay.”   
“Don’t TOUCH me--”  
“GO!” Thomas roared, shoving him at the door so violently you’d think Alexander was the attacker. Alex hit the door with both hands, catching himself and whirling around with a snarl, face screwed up in rage at Thomas. At these men, at whatever in the fucking hell had just happened. 

Thomas came up behind him, not taking any more time to bother trying to talk to Alexander. He reached around the boy, shoving the door open with a tinkling of a bell and trying to push Alex out, but the boy, jerked him off, gripping the heavy gun in his hand and firing it right next to Thomas’s hip with a flashing bang, recoil, jerking his hand, but if anyone knew how to handle it, it was Hamilton. 

“WHAT in the bloody-!”  
Thomas flinched at the gunshot and whired his head around, hair flying wildly to take in the scene. The man he had been fighting was on the floor, hand up in the air as his gun tore out of his grasp, clattering against the side of the drink machine. Alex had shot it. Alex had shot the pistol right out of his hand. 

Thomas breathed heavily, heart hammering as he looked down at Alexander, and lurched to a stop. His stomach plummeted. No...

The boy had that look in his eyes, that glint. Thomas had seen it many a time before and it brought him rushing back, an onslaught of memories bombarding him. He held the gun at ready, little finger on the trigger. 

“Alexander DON’T.” Thomas growled between gritted teeth, Alexander didn’t look at him, he didn’t even seem to hear him as his face darkened, lips screwing up in rage. Thomas’s heart whammed painfully in his chest. He was going to do it. 

The man waited not a second more, wrapping both arms around Alex’s waist and SHOVING him into the door, pushing it open and sending the both of them stumbling out into the crisp spring night. Their slick-soled shoes slapped and crunched on the gravelly blacktop as Alexander snarled, writhing and jerking to get Thomas off of him, but the larger was stronger. 

With only a few strides, he made it to the Nightcrawler, yanking open the door and dumping Alexander inside as another gunshot “PANG!”-ed, splitting the night. Thomas panted heavily, whipping his head around to see one of the men standing at the door across the parking lot, gun aimed at him.

“Shit.” Thomas hissed between gritted teeth, leaping up and rolling over the hood of his car in a split second before another bullet zinged off the side with a painfully sharp sound of bullets on metal, right where he had just been. Thomas pulled the door open on his side, leaning briefly over the roof of his car to fire two more banging shots, recoil jerking the gun twice in his hand before he ducked into the car, slamming the door behind him. He breathed heavily for a second, turning the key and slamming on the gas. 

But Alexander was in his face the moment he sat down.   
“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!” he screamed, louder than Thomas thought possible. The car roared to life, jolting forward in the lot with screeching tires. Thomas grabbed the wheel over and over again, leaning into it as he swerved the car around the building, wheels skidding and crunching on the gravel. 

He didn’t look at Alexander when he boomed right back.   
“WHY didn’t you FOLLOW my orders, BASTARD?!” They skidded out of the parking lot and swerved onto the street, cars honking as Thomas cut them off, bolting forward to one-hundred miles per hour accompanied by the whine of the Nightcrawler’s engine. 

“Why didn’t you give me a gun? Huh? Why didn’t you give the PROFESSIONAL SNIPER a GUN, Thomas?”  
“Why didn’t you follow orders?”  
“Why didn’t you give me a gun?-” 

“WHY didn’t you FOLLOW ORDERS.”  
“Why didn’t you give me a gun?-”  
“God fucking-DAMNIT ALEXANDER.” Thomas roared and screwed up his face, punching his steering wheel as hard as he fucking could, knuckles cracking against the leather. He was MAD…. he wasn’t his average, every-day annoyed. He was LIVID

The man yanked the wheel, sending them screeching past another car, screaming through the night at speeds approaching two-hundred. Thomas held her steady with one hand and turned almost completely sideways in his seat, yanking against his seatbelt. 

His eyes were flashing with temper long since suspended, his teeth were bared like a rabid animal, and he looked positively WRATHFUL. There was blood spattered down the front of his tuxedo and sprayed on his knuckles giving him a powerful, dangerous look whilst he grasped his glock in the hand that wasn’t on the wheel. Alexander had to shake it off, or else he would have the desperate urge to attack his mouth with his own. If Thomas had a temper he needed to control down, Alexander had a lusty craving for danger that needed to be equally tethered down in return. 

“I told you to STAY BACK and run to the car, Hamilton!” he spat in Alexander’s face, veins popping in his neck. Alexander turned in his seat, shoving his face right up to his partner’s and poking him in the chest with a sharp finger.   
“And I told you to GIVE ME your gun; I could have saved us a HELL of a lot of danger back there, fuckhead.”   
“YOU know you’re not allowed to pull a single trigger for two days.”

“Yeah, well I’m sure the contract had a footnote somewhere that says if the WORLD CLASS SNIPER and his shit-brained driver are in mortal peril, he can FIRE THE FUCKING GUN.”

Thomas snarled, turning back to the road and flooring the gas again, car wailing in the night as headlights blurred by.   
“I had us covered.”   
“Like hell you did, Thomas. You got your ass HANDED to you.”   
“Do I look dead to you, asshole?!” 

Alexander spat in utter contempt at Thomas and tossed his stolen gun up on the dashboard with a clatter.   
“No, you look lucky as shit.” Alex fired right back, lashing at him with ferocity, “You can’t shoot for jack-shit, driver-boy. You put BOTH of us in danger, and you know it.” 

“I did what I had to.”   
“My ass.” Alexander spat under his breath, leaning back in his seat with a disgusted shake of his head, crossing his arms over his chest.   
“What did you say to me?” Thomas curled his lip, baring his canines. Alex turned his head to him one more time.   
“I said: MY. ASS.” 

Thomas roared in rage, slamming his gun to the floor as hard as he fucking could. Alexander rolled his eyes, heaving an exasperated sigh.   
“Oh boo hoo, you’re having a tantrum---get the FUCK over yourself big-boy.” Alexander mocked, leering with a condescending scoff, “We get attacked by the mafia, you give me a gun. Simple enough for you or can I possibly dumb it down any more?” 

“YOU don’t know that was the mafia! YOU don’t know JACK SHIT BASTARD.” 

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Jefferson, use those two brain cells for something other than gala speeches and looking pretty.” Alexander sneered, pressing on, “Greasy dudes in suits and a black sedan? What? Think they came in for paninis?”

“I think they were punks looking for a fight.”   
“They were mafia members looking for a hit, Thomas. Jesus fucking Christ if I have to do this with you, I’m going to blow my head off.”  
“Allow me the honor.” Thomas sneered between gritted teeth, veering off onto an exit at fifty above the speed limit. Alex just scoffed incredulously, shaking his head and flopping back into his seat. What a fucking moron. What a mother. Fucking. Moron. 

Thomas waved his hand irritably above the dash, causing a projected map to show their location, and then he waved his hand again, putting it down. Alexander stewed and watched Thomas out of the corner of his eye as he flicked out his Ray-Bans, sliding them onto his face with seamless ease. He tapped the temple with a pointer finger, causing the inside of the lens to pop up with several glowing screens; there was a reason he always wore the same glasses.

He held his finger on the temple. 

“Agent Jefferson, get me Mr. Lafayette now.” he paused, listening to someone talk faintly in his ear. His brows swooped in, “I don’t care; I’m a top agent driving away from a shootout in downtown DC, I want to hear Mr. Lafayette on the phone in thirty five seconds or Washington can hear about this one instead.” There was another brief pause.   
“Thank you.” 

Thomas removed his finger from the arm of the glasses and sniffed, shifting his weight in his seat. Alexander just gave him a mopey look from across the console.   
“Shouldn’t do that while you're driving.” he mumbled under his breath, still irritated. Thomas laughed. 

“Let the professional getaway driver do his fucking job, Hamilton.” he scoffed with a scowling smile, “Just shut your mouth; I don’t even know why you’re talking to me.”  
“Hypocrite.” Alexander grumbled, but Thomas already had an incoming call and tapped into it, finger on his temple as Lafayette’s face appeared on the lense. 

Lafayette was a handsome man, Thomas’s senior by just three days, actually. The man was blonde with long, smooth hair and a pale, delicate face. But both of them knew that despite the givings of his features, he was far from delicate. He was the head of the Agents Department, and he was the head of agent training. They were SUPPOSED to see him for the first time not now, but in two days. But these circumstances threw everything upside-down. 

“Agent Jefferson, I received an urgent call?” He inquired, French accent heavy even on the microphone. His face was filled with concern; if there was anything to know about Lafayette it was how expressive and emotional he was. His heart was his biggest attribute despite the criteria of his job. 

Thomas inhaled, “Yes, Agent Hamilton and I were attacked unprovoked by two individuals at a restaurant at 3184 Harrison Ave in downtown DC. Estimated time 23:30.” he recited, knowing the motions well.   
“Agent Hamilton is there, you say?” Lafayette furrowed his brows, “And both of you are unharmed.”  
“Narrowly. “

“Yeah no thanks to you…” Alexander sneered with his head in his hand, making Thomas shoot him an absolutely lethal glare before returning.   
“Well… considering these circumstances I’d have you come to Washington’s office and file a report on the assault immediately.”   
“Indeed. Washington has returned?” 

“Yes, Agent Jefferson, only minutes ago. I will alert him.”   
“Thank you. And have him know that Hamilton will not be attending.” 

Now, Alexander who had been idly listening, bolted up to alertness, head snapping to look at Thomas with an open mouth. Thomas ignored him with a straight face, going on.   
“The boy has no jurisdiction to file a report until Monday, and he’s already past curfew, it’d be futile to try to get him in.”  
“Ah, I understand.” Lafayette nodded onscreen, about to tap out. 

“One more thing, have Seabury let us in; we’ve had enough trouble tonight to deal with the man.”  
Lafayette chuckled with a light, sly smile, “I’ll have it seen to.”  
“Splendid. Approaching now.”   
“Twenty minutes.”   
“Oui.”  
“Je vous verrai ensuite.”  
“Tu peux compter dessus.” 

And Thomas tapped out, removing his Ray-Bans and tucking them daintily into his bloody tuxedo. He was quite aware of Alexander STARING at him with the most outraged gape frozen on his face, his long hair framing his features attractively, but he didn't care. 

“Can you stop looking at me like that?” He finally broke the silence, turning the wheel calmly with a lazy palm, pulling them up into the echoey warehouse and gently pressing the brake. 

He shifted the gear to park and leaned back in his seat, glancing over at Alexander. The boy was still like that, furious.   
“What’re you playing at, Jefferson?”   
“Playing at?” Thomas drawled boredly, blinking with a light smile tugging at the corners of his lips, “Don’t know what you’re talking about and neither do you.”  
Alexander fumed. 

“Playing dumb or is that just natural for you?” The boy spat, following Thomas’s script. The older man crossed his arms with a light huff out of his nose, mildly amused. A bang echoed through the empty warehouse, signaling the start of their descent. 

Thomas didn’t respond, so Alexander just leaned forward, slapping his hand on the gun on the dash and dragging it lazily towards him. Thomas’s eyes suddenly flickered from him to the gun, flashing with alarm. Was he going to take that? He couldn't have that. Their descend came to a quick close, the platform locking in place within the private car garage. Thomas didn’t even seem to notice, dark eyes trained on his partner. 

He pushed his door open with a foot as Alexander did the same, keeping eye contact with him above the roof of the car as they stepped out and closed their doors in synch.

“Don’t touch that.” Thomas’s voice echoed in the parking garage as he placed his keys on the roof of the car for someone to park.  
Alex leered, tucking it inside his tuxedo, “Fucking bite me.” he retorted as he curled his lip, casting a glance at Thomas while he strolled to one of the many elevator ports and left his partner in the dust. Thomas rolled his shoulder’s forward, brow darkening as he quickened his pace, footfalls bouncing off the walls, and strode up behind Alexander. 

“Alexander Hamilton, hand over the gun.” he demanded firmly, stepping into the elevator with him right before the doors slid closed.   
“No. You have your own gun; you made that very clear tonight.” Alexander flicked his brows obnoxiously up at Thomas, pressing the button on the panel for level one. 

The larger man stepped towards Alexander, forcing the boy to take one step back. He felt the cool metal of the wall press against his clothed back and swallowed down a gasp. Woah… This was unexpected… so someone was feisty? Thomas’s eyes swept Alexander up and down, dark and full of warning. 

“You know what else I’ve made clear tonight?” He growled deep in his chest, locking eyes with Alexander.   
“That I don’t give two fucks about your name; I’ll show you consequences for your actions.” 

Alexander could do nothing but watch as Thomas’s hand extended slowly into his tuxedo, fingers brushing against Alex’s chest as he found the gun and extracted it at a crawling pace, all eyes on Alexander. Thomas twitched his brows when the boy did nothing, letting Thomas take it from him because he had nothing else to do about it. 

The man huffed, amused, and tested the weight once in his palm before transferring it to the other side of his tux.   
“Good boy.” he whispered tauntingly, squinting condescendingly at the boy, who’s cheeks were raging crimson, and patted the lapel of his jacket soundly. The Virginian calmly pressed the button for his apartment floor on the panel, causing the elevator to slow prematurely. 

Alexander’s eyes flickered past Thomas to the panel and back, confused.   
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” He scoffed, “We’re going to the meeting.”   
“Oh no, I’M going to the meeting, kiddo.” Thomas grumbled, backing up as the doors gilded open, stepping out backwards from the elevator. Alexander wasn’t so keen to get out yet. 

“Don’t call me that, asshole. Where are you going?”   
“It’s none of your business when I change my shirts, Alexander.” Thomas sneered over his shoulder, “I don’t care if you like blood; I don’t.” 

Alex hopped out, his heart beginning to accelerate mischievously in his chest. Now here was an opportunity. 

“Beg to differ.” he caught up to Thomas, not looking at him as they fell stride in stride. Thomas scoffed, giving Alexander a face.   
“Excuse me?”   
“Last night you said that paired agents keep tabs for safety reasons. Consider yourself tabbed.”   
“Okay. If I see any imminent danger in my bedroom, I’ll let you know.” Thomas grumbled sarcastically, turning the doorknob for his room and stepping within. Alexander smirked slyly, knowing exactly the dangerous game he was starting. 

“Yeah, please do. Wouldn’t want to miss it, sir.” 

That one word seemed to echo in the room. 

Thomas froze mid-stride, leather shoes halting their clicks in the middle of the floor. For a few moments nobody moved. The apartment was silent, as per usual, and it was just the two of them, tension tangibly vibrating in the air.   
The man slowly… slowly looked over his shoulder. 

“How dare you mock me.” He spat quietly, icy wrath in his irises. 

Alexander’s face darkened to a gradual grin.   
He bit his lip, sauntering forward at a slow, swaggering pace. Thomas’s dark eyes tracked his every movement, not missing a single trick, a single little expression. What was he scheming up this time?   
“You know, Jefferson… I’ve been to your place a lot when we were partners.” He flashed him a grin, tucking his hands in his pockets and taking a deep breath. The boy glanced up and around, checking out the apartment. 

“Like what you’ve done with the lighting. Really pops the artwork.”   
“Thank you.” Thomas sneered with a drawl, not nearly in the mood for Alexander’s little mind games. Alex huffed a little laugh, continuing at his slow pace up to Thomas, still biting that goddamn lip. The boy’s silhouette was outlined powerfully by the realer-than-life DC night skyline, giving him a powerful, almost royal air about him. 

“And all the times I’ve been here, I’ve never seen your bedroom.” Alexander squinted up to the ceiling like he was trying to remember, and then shook his head with a frown, bringing his gaze back to Thomas.   
“Nope. Never.” 

The man allowed his partner's voice to echo to silence. He waited. There was nothing but Alexander’s eyes as he bore into them.   
“Perhaps there are reasons, Hamilton.” he whispered. Alexander stopped, right in front of Thomas with only a few, scarce inches between them. He could feel the heat radiating from the taller man, FEEL him. 

He kept eye contact and slowly… experimentally extended his hand, resting two fingers on the button of Thomas’s tuxedo. Thomas watched his every move as Alexander tugged on it playfully. 

“How about a little tour?” he bit his lip again, popping the button out and letting his lapels fall aside. He smiled, “Just for fun?” 

“How about I use your ass for target practice?” Thomas sneered right back. Alexander shrugged, gliding his hand inside of Thomas’s jacket.   
“Your choice. Just thought you should let me watch, you know?” Alexander offered casually, sliding his palms up to rub over the tops of Thomas’s shoulders with a deep, contented inhale. 

Thomas just watched Alexander’s movements as if in a trance, captivated. The boy drew closer, looking like he was going for Thomas’s mouth, but instead he diverted to the side and brushed his lips over Thomas’s ear, breath fluttering his hair. Thomas felt Alexander smile against it and held down a shiver. 

“Quite frankly, I don’t believe that you have any tools at all. You’ve never been one to stray from a good bluff, driver-boy.” 

The silence that followed was so intense, it was deafening. 

“I loathe you.” Thomas finally whispered, breath teeming with hatred, “God if I had no restrictions, how I’d love to put a bullet in that mouth.” The sheer honesty was powerful. 

The teenager grinned, “Well that’s not very nice.” Alexander pouted, ever so gently pushing Thomas backwards so they were stepping as if pulled by an unknown force towards his bedroom. Perfect. Everything was going as planned for the sniper. Just as planned. 

“I’m done. I’m done playing nice with you.” Thomas growled lowly, flipping the power so that he was pushing Alexander towards the bedroom. Only a few steps more and he was pressing his back carefully against the door. The boy swallowed at the feeling, pretty throat bouncing as his eyes flickered from Thomas’s to where their hips were pressing together with a blatant lack of discretion. He bit his lip again, rubbing just the tiniest amount of friction against Thomas’s clothed, cock, squirming. 

“Be gentle, Thomas.” he breathed erotically.   
“No, no, no, no.” Thomas tut-tutted, snaking a hand under Alexander’s arm and turning the doorknob with a gentle click. Alex gulped again, moving backwards into the room by Thomas’s powerful influence.   
“No, Alexander, good boys get to play gentle.” he slipped his hands inside of Alexander’s suit and glided his fingers up his spine, giving Alex chills. This time he couldn’t hold down the shudder. Thomas smiled at his reaction, turning the boy around to face the room and holding him firmly by the shoulders. 

Alexander’s eyes widened and he gulped, heart leaping in his chest. His breathing accelerated and he knew Thomas could feel it. 

The dom leaned over slowly, trailing the searing tip of his tongue hotly down the edge of Alex’s ear at a crawling pace. He finally bit the tip. 

“Naughty boys take it rough.” 

His bedroom was just as elegant and ostentatious as any other room in his apartment, the ceiling was domed with screens to mock the night sky, shedding starlight over the beautiful display. The bathroom was to the right and the closet to the left. But the bed…

Thomas chuckled at his reaction, “Go ahead, take a look.” he released Alexander with a light push, crossing his arms and tossing his chin in the air to observe the scene taking place. For a few moments Alexander didn’t move, just stared. Stared at the ball carved poster bed with the expensively modern headboard, built seamlessly with symmetrical hooks, six on each side and one right in the middle. 

He didn’t dare move.   
Alex glanced hesitantly over his shoulder to Thomas who was leaning against the doorframe amusedly like a dad watching a kid explore the playground. Thoms just flicked his brows at him, daring him to go on. Alexander was never one to back down from a challenge, so he swallowed turning his gaze back to the bed stepping further into the room. 

Thomas tracked his movements. He knew what Alexander was doing. 

The boy kicked off his shoes and quietly crawled up onto the bed and sat back on his heels, taking a few moments just to look. Finally, he gingerly touching one of the hooks with the tip of his finger as if it was white-hot. Thomas huffed in mild amusement.   
“Most boys have the same reaction, don’t be shy.” 

For some reason that comment made Alexander’s gut burn. 

“Shut up.” Alexander scoffed over his shoulder at the patronization, and he saw Thomas tense up, eyes flashing with new aggression. There it was. There was the temper he had been looking for. Alexander turned away to hide his malicious grin. Perfect, perfect. 

“Alright. Fine. Why don’t you wait right there if you want to act like a child.”  
“Will do. What are the cabinets for?” 

Alexander was commenting on the sleek finished cabinets built into the wall on either side of the bed, constructed of the finest Bocote wood.   
“Don’t touch.” Thomas grumbled, strolling into his closet and clicking the door shut behind him. Yeah right. Alex listened carefully, monitoring the sounds of shoes on the carpet until he was sure Thomas was deep within the walls. And then, of course, he opened the cabinet. 

Deceptively, it opened up like a wardrobe instead of a drawer with a light creak, making Alex do a double take. And as soon as he viewed the contents, Alex’s jaw dropped. He closed it carefully, knowing the chains would make a lot of noise if he didn’t do so.   
His heart hammered in his chest. Holy fuck. Holy fuck he had gotten himself into trouble, and GOD knows that nobody loves trouble more than he. 

With a muffled clear of his throat, Thomas re-emerged just as Alexander closed the cabinet, adjusting a tie at his throat. His eyes settled on Alexander, coming up to the side of the bed and trailing a finger across the pristine covers.   
“Comfortable?” he inquired, quietly swinging one leg onto the lush grey sheets. 

Alex shrugged, “Not with this rock in my pants.” he laughed, laying down on his back for Thomas to crawl over him.   
“Hmph.” he huffed, gliding his warm palms up the boy’s little sides, feeling him, “I’m going to tell you right now to watch that mouth, Alexander.” he dictated firmly, coming up under his armpits and gradually lifting his arms over his head. 

“Say something that dirty again and I’m washing your mouth out with soap.” Thomas snarled, holding both his wrists to the bed and pressing him down to the sheets with his own heavy body.   
“Which is not pleasant, boy, you would probably know. I demand respect for my leniency.” he grumbled, nudging his face up under Alexander’s chin, demanding entry and Alex let him, exposing his throat for Thomas to latch onto. The man expertly took his delicate skin into his mouth, and bit deeply, drawing out a low moan from Alex who slowly arched his back off the bed just a tiny bit at the pain, moving his hips in slow, hot circles against Thomas's cock. 

Thomas sucked and dragged his teeth across the skin with perfect rhythm for three whole minutes until it was unbearable, pulling away only when he’d made a bruise so purple it was nearly black on Alex’s throat.  
“Did you just fuck my shit up?” Alexander asked laughingly, wincing and trying to crane and see what Thomas had done, but of course it was impossible. Thomas ignored him.   
“Open.” he grumbled, licking into Alexander’s wide-open mouth. The boy sighed deeply, shifting under Thomas with a tiny hum, listening to the sound of their tongues lapping together. 

It was utterly slow and impossibly filthy, just opening and closing their mouths at a crawling pace. Thomas’s tongue was scalding against his, stroking the inside of his mouth with dirty precision. Alex grinded up against Thomas’s abs and the man grinded right back, but HARD. And he pinned him there, keeping him pressed to the bed. He dug his nails into those wrists.

“You’re being a brat.” Thomas snarled, biting Alex’s lip and opening his eyes to glare in the younger’s, “Stop it.” 

It was so firm and serious that Alexander actually obeyed with a tiny whimper, lowering his eyes submissively.   
“Sorry…” he mumbled, irritated when Thomas gave him a skeptical little glare before licking back past his lips again. He wanted to fuck, goddamnit; he didn’t want this making-out bullshit, but he had to be patient. The longer Thomas wanted to be cute with him, the longer he missed his meeting. Fine by him. 

Suddenly, out of the blue. Thomas stopped.   
His mood changed. 

“Oh, Alexander…” Thomas sang with a sweet sigh, pressing into one last tongue-filled kiss. Alex’s brows twitched downwards, confused, and he stopped too, opening his eyes. But Thomas’s voice darkened within seconds, “You are so naive.” he drawled.   
The way he said it sent an icy tendril of panic curling in the pit of Alexandr’s belly. His brows swooped down. 

“...W-What?-” But before he could even get the word out, there was a shock of cold metal against his wrists and then a click, metal clattering above his head with the tightening sound similar to a ziptie. What was this? 

Thomas laughed cruelly, rising up from Alexander’s body and smoothing his raven hair back over his head. Alex whipped his head from Thomas to the ceiling, trying to strain behind him and see what had just happened. 

“Thomas...” he growled through gritted teeth, craning over his shoulder and yanking against the metal around his wrists. Chains clattered against wood in return, restraining his movement. Thomas laughed, entertained, as he watched the boy struggle, falling nicely right into his little trap. He held up a little oval-shaped gadget between two fingers, sighing fondly at it. 

“Shock cuffs, ever heard of em?” he asked almost conversationally, like he was casually asking about a new chain restaurant. Alexander just squirmed again, long hair in his face as he tried to see his wrists.  
“When I activate them they’re going to give you a mild electric current every time you give a certain amount of tension.” Thomas explained professionally, holding out the little remote close to Alexander’s face for him to observe. The boy took one moment to look at it before jerking up a knee, aiming for Thomas’s elbow with a furious grunt. 

Thomas snatched his arm away with lightning reflexes, tossing the gadget in the air and letting is smack satisfyingly to his palm with a light laugh.   
“Wouldn’t do that if I were you, Alexander.” he hummed. Alex just grunted again, tossing his hair wildly out of his eyes. 

“I have six more sets of shock cuffs alllll fitted for different parts of the body. Collar. Thighs. Ankles, torso.” he listed absent-mindedly, daintily pulling back his cuff to look at his Audermas Pigues watch.   
“But shit, would you look at the time? Almost late to my meeting.” he laughed incredulously, “Fuck, would’ve been a shame if I’d been distracted by a filthy little WEASLE that thinks he has any power here whatsoever.” 

“Bastard…” Alexander trailed quietly in utter… utter disbelief, as he watched Thomas slip off of the bed, smoothing down his suit lapels, “Bastard! What the fuck is wrong with you, man?”   
“Not nearly as much as what is wrong with you, fucker.” Thomas spat right back, staring down on Alexander like he was a useless piece of trash. Thomas rounded to the side of the bed to look straight down into his eyes. 

“Cute how you bought all of that. Truly.” Thomas snorted in disgust at Alexander’s shocked face, “What? You thought I wanted to make out with your pathetic ass? Give me a fucking break, Alexander, I thought you were smarter than that.” he laughed, pressing on. 

“You think I’d be that gentle? You think I’d be that lenient? You insult me, you worhtless sack of dogshit.”   
“SHUT UP.” Alexander spat, hauling sharply against the cuffs and only receiving a jerk as his wrists were held in place, immoble. He was stuck and he could feel no weakness in THESE cuffs; they weren’t the everyday police bullshit. 

“I was under the impression that I made it quite clear that our little rendezvous in the sheets was a one-time fling. So let me make that clear now.” Thomas dictated clearly, pressing a button darkly on the remote. Alexander heard a tiny beep as the cuffs calibrated, whirring to life. 

Alex craned one last time with gritted teeth, realizing it was hopeless. He’d have to escape blindly or sit there and wait for Thomas’s return. How had he done this? How had he flipped the power balance to his favor without Alexander even having a damn clue? The man suddenly surged forth, coming right up to Alexander’s face, teeming with aggression. 

Alex’s eyes darted between Thomas’s, taking in the dark wrath. The man screwed up his lips.   
“You like to play games? Like to manipulate me into missing my obligations? Well we’re playing my game from now on, so pay attention to the rules, Hamilton.” he spat, relishing in the shocked look in Alex’s eyes. Ironic. 

“Stay here, bitch. I’ll deal with you when I get back.” he lifted away from the boy’s face with a firm shake of his head. But then he paused with a lurch, remembering. The man turned back around to face Alexander, placing one hand calmly on the bed. 

“And as for this…” he breathed, slowly creeping the hand up Alexander’s thigh, trailing his nails up his pant leg. The boy squirmed at the uncomfortable tickle, panting. Thomas flashed him a dangerous look and rested two fingers on his painfully solid bulge, stroking over it rhythmically, feather-light. 

Alexander wanted to whimper and cross his knees, but he used every amount of self restraint in his nineteen-year-old body to stay still, not let Thomas see he struggle. 

“Let this help you to think about what you’ve done while I’m gone.” The man stroked him lightly one more time before backing away, neck arched attractively, “I want you to lay here, helplessly hard with not a fucking thing to do about it. Think about what your behavior costs you, fucker.” 

“DON’T you walk out that door, Jefferson.” Alexander snarled and spat, raging with vibrating fury. Thomas just laughed, backing up sexily with his arms raised from his sides. He tossed his chin in the air, eyes flashing with power. 

“Rule number one of this business, Alexander. Always be the smartest in the room.” 

“Don’t you dare…” Alexander seethed. But Thomas just winked at him, tucking the remote snugly in his pocket.   
“JEFFERSON!” he roared, but Thomas had already slammed the door, leaving him in the silence of the room, handcuffed to the bedpost on Thomas Jefferson’s bed. Alexander screwed up his face and kicked the mattress with a scream of frustration. Fucking FUCK. 

He tugged at the unbreakable cuffs only to be greeted by a sharp electric jolt, vibrating through his entire body. 

“FUCK!” he boomed, back arching as he panted, heaving for breath while he waited for the reverberating shock to subside. He gritted his teeth and just forced himself to lay still, waiting. It wasn’t too powerful, but it was unpleasant, and somehow, SOMEhow he wanted more, which was the part that infuriated him the most. 

Despite knowing he’d gotten himself into this mess, he was still painfully hard against his dress pants. Painfully. Thomas had screwed him over, caught him red-handed and turned the tables on him. And yet his cock throbbed achingly against his clothes, desperately needing friction; it was urgent. Of course Thomas had left him on his back. Of course. 

Alexander whimpered in utter frustration after some time of silence, trying to carefully, carefully twist his body to get his pelvis on the bed. But three minutes of uselessly struggling, he realized it was futile. He groaned, flopping back to his original position, laying flat and staring up at the domed ceiling. The screens made it look like thin stratus clouds were passing in front of the starry Virginian sky. The faroff stars glittered against the velvety backdrop. It was actually pretty peaceful. 

Ten minutes of throbbing frustration and Alexander began to felt that deep tug from within his body, pulling him lower, inviting him to sink instead of suffering there. Why the hell not. He allowed it to, reeling him into that drifting place of aimlessness. Without him even realizing, his eyes had slowly slid closed. This could be worse. Jefferson’s bed was comfortable. Soft and deep… Jefferson’s bed… Jefferson’s bed?!

Alexander’s eyes snapped open, his head bolting up from the mattress.   
“What in fuck’s name am I doing?” he hissed to himself, bending at the knees to scoot closer to the cuffs. This was ridiculous. This was fucking ridiculous, why the hell would he let this happen?   
Thomas couldn’t win. Thomas couldn’t take him down this easily, even with his fancy kink-gadgets and shock tools. Fuck his tools, fuck him. He was Alexander fucking Hamilton. 

Alexander, stuck out his tongue in new determination, letting it surge through his body. Thomas wanted to play? He’d let him play. He could play all he wanted.   
But they were going to play Alexander’s game. From this moment forth. The boy's face darkened. 

If Jefferson wanted to take him down, he'd have to try a hell of a lot harder. Alexander wasn't going anywhere without a fight.


	8. Call it Even

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!! I hope everyone is staying healthy, much, MUCH love to all of you beautiful readers! 😊❤️❤️

The double doors slowly creaked open, the old mahogany parting with an indignant groan and then booming into place, reverberating the tense air engulfing them. Everything was still.  
The two bald men exchanged a short glance at each other, squinting in the jarring darkness of the room ahead of them. The voidness of light was blinding, the thin trickles of sweat down their backs was uneasy, bone-chilling.   
There was nearly no light, none but the dim glow of a flickering fireplace, crackling in the hearth. In the echoing silence, they could hear it faintly popping, roaring from inside the ominous space. And they waited, each one with a gun pressed coldly to their slick backs, a dreadful reminder. 

They waited. 

After an agonizing eternity, there was a deep sigh from within the walls.   
“Come in.” A high voice finally called with a sense of boredom. Both of the men felt their hearts thudding silently against their ribs, throbbing in their eyes, pounding in their ears. Could the man hear it? 

The holders of the guns held their respective man firmly, manipulating him inside of the room with minimal resistance, hands still free at their sides. Any and all restraints were unspoken, intangible, yet very… very real nevertheless. Not six feet into the room, they halted, Victorian mahogany doors groaning closed behind them, echoing in the hallway. But in the room, it was fairly muffled. 

The men blinked against the sudden darkness, glimpsing their surroundings as much as possible without daring to take the risk of any sudden movements. The temptation to roll one’s head around and observe was tantalizing; not many ever saw the inside of this room. Even fewer saw anything after they had entered. And both men knew this, the dread sitting like cold tar in the pit of their guts, plaguing them with silent, unspoken panic. 

As their eyes adjusted, the room came into view. It was nearly exactly as it was whispered about in hushed conversations in diners, with surreptitious glances back and forth to ensure   
non-members were deaf to their forbidden words. 

Dim and Victorian Era styled, the old floors were adorned with expensive, antique rugs. There were old paintings on the walls, but none could be seen in the low light, just the faint, greasy glint of their oil on canvas, their ornate brass frames. The ceiling was, likewise, invisible above their heads.   
Before them stood three plush armchairs around the mantled fireplace, but the largest one, the only one of any importance, was the one facing directly towards the flames, tall and crimson velvet. 

One of the bald men swallowed carefully beneath his tie, lowering his eyes from the lion’s head on the wall next to him, uneasy. But the second man’s gaze was captivated by the looming portrait over the fireplace, oily canvas flickering in the light of the flames.

He stared, in a trance with the unsettling feeling that the painting was getting closer, closing in… surrounding him. His heart thudded inexplicably faster in his chest whilst his stomach plummeted.

The portrait depicted a young, attractive boy with a faint half smile and one dimple, and yet his features were sharp and dark, radiating power. He was swathed in this repetitive Vitcorian style garb, top hat, waistcoat, a dark overcoat, and the thin, golden chain of a pocket watch snaking around his hip. One arm rested leisurely on the plush arm of a couch, the other grasping an ornate cane despite his striking youth. The silver peeking of a flintlock could be seen held lazily in his resting arm. And his eyes… The man swallowed. 

They were so alive, so stunning as if it all was a portrait with two holes cut cleanly in the canvas for someone to peer through, looking down on the men with spying eyes. 

The second bald man looked down to the floor, unable to meet eyes with the spine-chilling, daunting orbs of the Victorian boy for any longer. 

In the dim right corner of the room, beyond the reach of the light cast by the fireplace, stood an austerely carved grandfather clock with a single, thin crack in the glass, the pendulum swinging within its box. For a long time, the only movement was that pendulum. The only sound was the “tik… tik… tik…” of its spindly hand, signalling the crawling passage of time. 

Another millennium passed in the surreally avante garde room of quiet horrors. An eternity. 

It seemed hours before the voice in the armchair inhaled again, a lazy arm extending into view. The bald men tensed as the voice curled through the air once more. 

“Scottish Whiskey, gentlemen.” The voice was smooth and thick, bringing images of a long line of wealth and power to the mind. From behind the chair, a hand came into view, delicately dangling a short crystal glass of deep golden liquid. 

The two men felt their hearts patter faster in unison, fighting not to exchange glances. The flames flickered behind the liquid, giving it a glinting, fiery glow.   
“Shipped all the way here from Edinburgh this morning. Take a glass if you please.” He offered. 

Neither man moved. 

There was another long silence as the hand returned to its place hidden behind the back of the tall armchair. There was a clink and dainty smack of the lips, signaling a sip had been taken. The man breathed a deep, contented sigh, turning and rotating the glass, letting the liquid be visible in the firelight once more. 

“You know, gentlemen, Scotch is a very delicate liquor. Ever brewed it?” he began, not intending to be answered, voice gentle and even as silk, “The grain must be harvested, mashed, fermented.” he listed, waving the glass in hand, twirling the contents within.   
The two men shared a nervous glance in the dark, unable to read each other. 

“It must be distilled with ghastly precision. But, you see, none of it matters if it is not aged.” he retracted his hand and took another long sip. 

They waited. 

“Perfection.” he breathed in deep satisfaction, licking his lips, “This Scotch in my glass was aged to perfection. The Edinburghian brewers knew from their supervisors that for the best whiskey, one must wait. For the most exquisite outcome that is sold to prime ministers and politicians, one must obey.” 

There was a sharp clink as the glass was seemingly set down on a table.   
“The same is true with many things, gentlemen. Many things.” he continued. The bald man imagined that now, he was folding his hands slowly in his lap, leaning back in his seat. Imagining what he could not see was spiking the adrenaline already coursing icily through his veins. 

“I must say, I was quite hurt to hear that two members, who I had blessed with my rare personal orders… ignored them.” he finished, voice sounding nearly heartbroken. His mysterious tone sent a chill up the first man’s spine.   
“One could almost say I was… offended….” 

“Sir,” the man blurted forth, causing his taller friend’s head to bolt up from the ground, eyes bulging in alarm, in desperate warning. But he pressed on, breaking against every instinct in his body, “I would never in my life dream to offend you sir… never.” 

“And yet…” the voice hissed highly from its place behind the chair. The man that had spoken, swallowed, throat incredibly dry.   
“I imagined…” he floundered, licking his lips desperately, “that catching the boy... and bringing you his body would bring honor onto your greatness, sir.” 

“Honor onto my greatness?” he repeated, lightly amused. He slowly crossed his legs in the armchair, “Or honor onto yourself, I wonder?” his tone darkened in a second, heavy with warning as fingers curled around the soft arm of the chair. The man shook his head, eyes popping with terror. 

“No, sir--I never--”  
“Silence.” The hand lifted to signal the cease of his voice. His own never raised.  
The pause that followed was agonizing, both men squeezing their eyes shut in a silent prayer, a silent beg that he hadn’t spoken too far. The smaller man’s lips moved rapidly in a silent psalm, eyes closed, head rocking. 

“Direct orders were given.” The voice finally whispered smoothly once again, “To set a grossly modest bounty on the boy’s head and leave him to the public thugs. Gentlemen, how does your behavior reflect on me?” he questioned almost sympathetically. 

“On our group as a whole?” He did not want an answer, and both men obeyed. 

He sighed deeply, exhaling for a long time as if this discussion inconvenienced him, but only slightly, only slightly. One bald man was shaking, head to his chest and SHAKING in fear. Silence prevailed. 

“You are lucky, gentlemen.” The man began once again with that charismatic voice, “The… Federal Bureau of Investigations have no knowledge of your identities,” he spoke the name as if it tasted vaguely bitter in the back of his throat, “your offence will not lead them to us.” The man glanced up to the looming portrait for a moment, focusing in on those dark eyes. They glinted back at him with that cunning half-smile. 

“Being a forgiving man, I will only conduct the most minor penalty for your actions.” 

The taller man MELTED, unable to control his knees buckling as he kneeled to the floor in pure relief, pure blessing. Without comprehending his own actions, the other man did the same, unable to contain the rejoice. He wept, shaking uncontrollably.   
His tongue sputtered to find the words, lips numb “Thank you sir. THANK you--” 

“Kill them.” The hand waved lazily in front of the fire, voice echoing calmly, dryly flat in the Victorian room.

There wouldn’t even have been time to react if they’d wanted to. 

Two simultaneous gunshots “PANG!”-ed deafeningly with a flash, filling the room with an ear-splitting bang.  
Two bodies thudded sickeningly to the ornately carpeted floor, crumpling, followed by a tense hush. There was nothing but the crackle of the fire… the swinging of the pendulum in the corner. 

The dragging of clothing on carpet only lasted a moment before the doors creaked and boomed to a close, leaving the man alone in the silence of the surreal, nightmarish room once more. 

The man in the armchair, Burr, just took his glass daintily in hand and held it against the light, observing how the flames flickered through the golden liquid, fractured and dancing in the grooves and ridges of the elegant glassware. 

And over the rim of the crystal glass, he caught the Victorian boy’s eye as he so often did, gleaming at him, boring into him. Burr found the same half smile that the boy sported and tilted his glass just slightly up to him in a silent toast before pressing his lips to the chilled crystal, taking another long sip. 

The man let his eyes fall closed, absent-mindedly placing the glass back on the table. He licked his lips quietly to savor the exquisite flavor, straightening his suit cuffs in a slow, quiet manner.   
Perfectly aged, he thought, seeing the eyes of the boy even in the darkness behind his own eyelids. 

Perfectly aged…

**

Thomas Jefferson clicked down the hall at an even pace, chin tilted aristocratically in the air. He was filled with a new sense of clarity, coolness.   
With his little pest firmly out of the way, he was far more tame, clear-minded. He smoothed his pretty hair on his head with a contented sigh, approaching the double doors and not breaking stride as he entered with confidence. 

Thomas had hardly even peeked his head in the door before his ears were bombarded with a flurry of sounds and movements, taken aback. His eyes widened, looking around at the hubbub within the selected conference room, but a body moved in front of him, lurching to a stop and blocking his vision. 

“Ah, Agent Jefferson, come in, come in.” Washington had a tablet in his hand and hardly even looked up, waving Thomas in with a distracted hand as he continued by to the long conference table, swiping through tabs on the Ipad. Thomas, a bit bewildered, stepped into the room that he was familiar with--the elongated redwood table with the stunning raindrop light arrangement above. 

Four people were now around the table, huddled together and observing the vertical, transparent screen display in the middle. Through the screen, Thomas observed the head of the Tech Department, Angelica Schuyler, dark eyes darting from the screen to a notepad, jotting down point after point. Lafayette's attractive face gave him a warm smile, but he jolted a bit, sticking his hand into his pocket. A call, apparently. 

Thomas cleared his throat. 

“Ladies, gentlemen,” he addressed, placing his hand authoritatively on the back of a chair and looking around, “is there something that I’m missing here?” 

Washington had just situated himself curtly in a chair across from Thomas, unbuttoning his suit to produce a pen.   
“Apologies, Mr. Jefferson, this is all rather unexpected. You know Mrs. Schuyler.” He gestured to the powerful-jawed young woman, working determinedly at the screen. She didn’t look at him, scribbling feverishly. 

“Sorry, occupied, my colleague will fill you in.” she clipped hastily without sparing a glance, eyes twitching across the projection.   
Washington nodded deeply, leaning back and holding out a flat hand for Thomas to look over Angelica’s shoulder. A slim man of about thirty was tapping through his cell phone and slowly approached, clicking on one last thing before lifting his head, coming back to reality with a tight smile on his attractively stubbled face. 

“Agent Jefferson, Tench Tilghman.” He introduced himself with a firm handshake and pulled out the chair next to Thomas’s to seat himself. Not even realizing that he had been standing, Thomas did the same, sliding gracefully down and tossing his suit out behind him with a sniff, still confused but never willing to show it. 

Lafayette, who had been talking on the phone respectfully at the end of the room, finished his call and tucked his device into his pocket, turning around with a wide smile for Thomas.   
“Thomas, mon frère, thank God you are alright.” he sighed, suit fluttering as he pulled aside the seat on the other side of Thomas, wedging in and placing both hands on Thomas’s shoulders to place a loud kiss on both cheeks. Thomas returned the favor seamlessly. 

Lafayette pulled away once they were finished greeting, smoothing his blonde ponytail down onto his back with one pale hand. Washington cleared his throat to get their attention. 

“Mr. Lafayette alerted me of the disturbance tonight involving Hamilton.”  
“I’d hardly call it a disturbance.” Thomas immediately responded and leaned back in his seat with a deep exhale, crossing his arms over his chest, “We were shot at, unprovoked, at a restaurant. It’s an assault.”   
George dipped his head and nodded even before Thomas finished talking. 

“Yes, I know, and you know why this matter is of such importance to this organization. Because you two are of such importance to this organization.” Thomas lifted his chin a fraction of an inch, satisfied with that statement of what he saw as pure truth. 

“Indeed.”   
“So I, of course, arrange this meeting immediately. I get off the phone with Mr. Lafayette and see I’ve missed a call from Mrs. Schuyler,” he gestured to her again, still scribbling, “Whilst we were talking. I called her back immediately to discover some critical information had been found before our investigation into this assault had even begun, purely by what seems to be coincidence.” 

Washington’s blue eyes lifted from his tablet to Tench, signaling for him to talk. The man nodded and cleared his throat, picking up where Washington had left off.  
“Yeah, I was working late at my desk, examining another minor case investigation off of commercial search engines.”   
“So. The DarkNet.” Thomas filled in leisurely, crossing his legs. The man smiled in what might have been a grimace as if the term made him slightly uncomfortable. 

“Yes. The DarkNet.” he coughed quietly and went on as if the word had never been mentioned, “When what we can only assume was a glitch transported me to a site that I immediately took a picture of with my cellphone.” he spun his phone around on the slick table so that Thomas could peek at the image. It was blurry and dark, and he squinted, trying to get a better look. 

As soon as the vision came into focus… his heart thudded faster, accelerating.  
The blurred image depicted Alexander’s starchy mugshot, the boy’s neck half-hidden behind the thick collar holding him in place when it was taken, his long hair brushing the tops of his shoulders as he stared, straight faced into the camera. Next to his image was Thomas, an outdated picture of his employee ID from when he worked as a surgeon before entering the FBI. 

Thomas continued past the images, reading what he could despite the fogginess… and his whamming heart plummeted straight into his stomach, leaving him breathless. His eyes darted across the page, scanning it again and again as his lips parted, searching for words. 

He lifted his head, eyes ringing with alarm.   
“Is that…?”  
“A murder bounty?” Tilghman finished his sentence with a sigh, rubbing a tired hand over his eyes, “Yes.” He answered, voice muffled behind his hand. Thomas didn’t speak at all, just leaned back in his seat and rubbed his own hand over his mouth, stretching his face in silent dread. 

“The poster of this offered 900,000 dollars apiece for yourself and Agent Alexander-‘Eight Shot’-Hamilton. Dead or alive. It seems that the assaulters had chosen the former.” 

“Fuck…” Thomas whispered beneath his hand, returning it carefully to his lap. One day. The boy had been out ONE day and people already knew about it. An itch of annoyance arose in Thomas, growing more and more irking the more he thought of it. 

“He shouldn’t have been allowed to leave headquarters.” Thomas growled, brows furrowed, agreeing with himself the more he spoke. The man shook his head incredulously with a sneer.   
“He should have had restrictions. He put both of our lives in danger.” 

“Yes. That is quite apparent now.” Washingtons clipped slowly between gently clenched teeth, raising his brows darkly at Thomas in a demand for respect. The latter held back a scoff and leaned back in his seat. He shook his head and looked off to the distance with incredulously parted lips, infuriated, seething silently. Tilghman looked back and forth uncomfortably between Washington and Thomas for a few moments, speculating on whether he should speak again and break the awkward silence. 

The pause that followed was tense, Thoms’s temper clearly getting the best of him. But at some point the meeting had to go on.  
“We…” Tilingham started slowly, eyes darting between the two men, “...Also found that the glitch immediately stripped away the walls that were keeping our browsing anonymous, which caused a complex chain reaction of sorts that shut down our firewalls as a whole.” 

Thomas’s head snapped to the side, eyes wide.   
“And you…” he spoke slowly, gesturing with an empty hand, “Got them back UP, right?” he spoke, knowing virtually nothing about the subject but it didn’t take a rocket scientist to realize that having FBI firewalls down was a catastrophic calamity. 

Tench opened his mouth to answer, but a voice interrupted him. 

“Up.” Angelica finally spoke, lifting both hands from the screen, dropping her pen with a clatter to the table and staring at it, flickering back and forth over the information. Nobody at the table moved, just watched the standing woman scanning the screen calculating at a million miles per hour for a long, drawn out thirty seconds. She waited a few moments before lowering her hands with a sharp breath of relief. She closed her eyes, mouthing a word they could not hear, and then turned cooly back to the men, blinking her eyes back open. 

“Up.” she repeated, far more collected this time, “We’re secure. I’ll have my team searching for any disturbances and intrusions, but as of now we have no way of knowing what the hell just happened.” 

She pinched the bridge of her nose, sliding exhaustedly down into the seat next to Washington and closing the page of her notepad that was inked up black with all of the writing. 

Lafayette placed a knuckle to his mouth, glancing at the elites around the table that were all deep in contemplation. He cleared his throat grandiloquently to speak.  
“We discuss the bounty and we discuss the assaulters, but we do not put two and two together.” 

Thomas followed along with his heavily accented words, understanding what he was trying to get at. The Frenchman pressed a pen to his lips, speaking around it.   
“The mafia could not have posted the bounty. They would not go for such modest price.” 

“Or that’s exactly what they were thinking when they created it.” Thomas contradicted, staring concentratedly at the red grain of the table, wheels turning rapidly in his head like he was the only one in the room. 

“But… that wouldn’t make any sense…” he whispered, suddenly going still. He didn’t move for a long time.

Angelica stared at him over her Ipad which she was using to create a file for this case. For a long time, Thomas didn’t speak again, absolutely lost. 

“...What… doesn’t make sense, Agent Jefferson?” Angelica prompted him impatiently, dark brows twitching down with concern. Thomas just shook his head, not meeting anyone’s eyes.   
“Why would the mafia post a bounty and then seek it out themselves? It makes no sense.” 

Angelica looked at Washington and then back to Thomas, trying to coax his eyes up.   
“Are you implying that you believe these men were members of the mafia?” 

Thomas’s face screwed up in annoyance, the memory of his and Alexander’s fight in the car coming back to him.   
“Hamilton thought so. But how the hell could they be if the mafia launched the bounty? They could have been anyone. They were wearing suits, yes, they arrived in a black sedan, yes, but I’m pretty damn sure all suits and black sedans on the planet aren’t reserved for the goddamn mafia.” Thomas licked his lips, trying to figure this one out, tapping his fingers rapidly on his bouncing knee.

He was so deep in concentration that he hardly even noticed the doors behind him gliding open before they slid shut with a click. Wasington lifted his head with an almost relieved look on his tired face.   
“Excellent, Hamilton, come in.” he waved a hand over the heads of the people sitting before him. 

Thomas’s. Heart. Stopped.

For a moment he genuinely believed he was hearing things. The man whirled his head over his shoulder craning to see what he knew couldn’t possibly be behind him. Not a chance in hell. And yet when he turned, his stomach lurched in his gut. 

Alexander Hamilton in the flesh, stood with a sense of superiority in the doorway, buttoning his cuffs with a refreshed sigh and smiling arrogantly at the people seated around the table. His cunning eyes fell on Thomas’s, lips twitching in their smirk before returning to Washington. 

“Apologies for my tardiness, you excellency.” he dipped his head and stepped forth, sauntering slowly into the room and passing Thomas without a glance. With the waft of air following him, Thomas could smell his own perfume. HIS Yves Saint Laurent perfume on him, and then it hit him: the little rat had gone into his bathroom and used some for himself. How… HOW had he gotten out?! It wasn't possible.   
Thomas’s hands slowly curled into fists, white knuckles cracking silently under the table. But Alexander knew; Alexander could see the grinding muscles in his jaw, reading him like a picture book. The boy just grinned softly, placing one dainty finger on the table as he rounded it’s corner. 

“I’m afraid my hands were tied,” he flashed a fraction of a look at Thomas, who’s lips parted slowly in disbelief at his implication. He did not. He did not just do that. “But I made my way here, didn’t I?”   
He slid down leisurely in the seat next to Washington. TOO… close to Washington, and it was all on purpose. To fuck with Thomas’s head. Thomas shouldn’t care. He shouldn’t. And yet seeing the boy’s knee just BARELY graze with the Director’s… he looked away, glowering at the red grain of the table wood. 

“Yes, thank you for coming.” He answered shortly, nodding to the rest of the group, “For those of you that are unaware, Thomas.” he addressed the man, expecting him to look up and engage. The Virginian forced his eyes up once again, catching the movement of Alexander flicking his brows challengingly in the corner of his eyes. 

Washington went on, “Agent Hamilton is here tonight as a witness, not an agent filing a case. Technically he is a civilian in this meeting, so I expect him to be treated as one. Is that clear?”

Lafayette nodded, waving a hand absentmindedly through the air, obviously wishing that he could greet Alexander in the way that he knew best.  
“Oui. C'est bon.” He grumbled in disappointment, tossing his ponytail once again to its proper place on his back. Washington shifted his attention to Alexander once again, placing both laced hands on the desk and clearing his throat, but Alexander interrupted him with a scoff. He had been staring at Tench, sweeping him up and down with his eyes. 

“Who the hell are you?” he asked with the hint of a sneer, making Thomas unclench and clench a fist. Thomas didn’t care about Tench, not in the slightest. What he DID care about what that fucking tone of voice Alexander was using with the adults. A teenager speaking to a grown man like he was the goddamn shit; it was disgusting. 

“Mr. Tilghman is one of my top members, Agent Hamilton, so how about some respect?” Angelica sneered right back, not giving two damns about who Alexander was. There was a beat's pause.   
The boy slowly… slowly turned his head to Angelica, a light smile playing on his parted lips. He nodded lightly, almost entertained that someone had actually stood up to him. She met his eyes unwaveringly, not daunted in the slightest. And for some reason… SOME reason this angered Thomas just the same, seeing Angelica show Alexander some authority. 

At this point Washington stepped in to put the foot down. 

“Alexander Hamilton, do you give full consent to give a truthful account of the events.”   
“Yes sir.” Alexander swung his head from Angelica to him and looked up at him through those dark lashes, changing his mood on a dime. Thomas’s veins throbbed with red rivers of fury. Angelica turned her seat sideways to see him better, still prickling from the little squabble. 

“Mr. Hamilton, how did you arrive at the FBI event tonight?” She strained on the dry script of the interview.   
“Alexander leaned back lazily, almost bordering on rudely in his seat, making eye contact with her. 

“With my friend, John Laurens. 2019 white Subaru.” Thomas had to hold down a leering scoff, earning a short glance from Lafayette. Angelica went on, tapping in on her tablet as she recorded.   
“And you left with?”  
“Agent jefferson.” Alexander answered seamlessly, slipping a pen out of his tuxedo pocket to fiddle with between his fingers.   
“Is there anything in particular that occurred between your arrival and departure that we should know about?” 

Alexander parted his lips and twitched a single brow at Thomas across the table, eyes twinkling with mischief.   
“Not that you should know about.” he spoke, the tiniest hint of malice in his tone. Angelica paused for a moment, nails tapping on the screen rapidly before continuing with her questioning, not even looking up to catch the glances between Alexander and Thomas. The latter was shaking his head so… so slowly in utter fury, outraged that the boy had the nerve… had the ARROGANCE. 

“You stopped at 3184 Harrison Avenue for dinner, and that’s when you were assaulted by two armed men, can you elaborate on that?”   
“Yeah.” he slurred around the tip of his pen, crossing his legs and leaning back in the seat, “I was eating because Jefferson didn’t want anything. And a black sedan with tinted windows idled in front of the establishment in question, clearly scouting out the individuals inside.” he spoke eloquently, twirling the pen like a bored child in class, “Jefferson expressed his concerns, and I dismissed them when the vehicle pulled away. About thirty seconds later it came back around once again and parked. At this point, I had reasonable suspicion of the situation and I requested that Agent Jefferson give me his gun. Glock 45.” 

Alexander paused, waiting for someone to ask him about it…. BEGGING for someone to ask about it, all while leaning back and smiling coyly across the countertop at Thomas. Thomas wanted to hit something, anything particularly that smug little face. God, he wanted to hurt him right now. He would give anything, anything. 

Angelica looked up from her Ipad, almost annoyed at Alexander; the woman was known for her sharp wit and she wasn’t going to stand for any of this pettiness.   
“And did Agent Jefferson present you with the firearm in question, Mr. Hamilton.” she dictated firmly, pulling him back into the question. 

“No.” Was Alexander’s only answer. He spoke it with a cool collectedness, not even looking at Thomas this time. 

Angelica tapped the screen for a few more seconds, “Continue.”   
“At this point there was a gunshot from the men, and they approached us, both drawing weapons. They were about 6’5 and 6’3, I’d say. Both bald men in their mid-forties. I disarmed one with my belt and seized his Desert Eagle. At this point, Agent Jefferson finished with his man and clocked out mine. We vacated the premises in Agent Jefferson’s Lamborghini Veneno without pursuit.” 

There was a long silence, just the tapping of nails on glass.   
“Thank you Mr. Hamilton, you are free to leave.” She clicked the power button on the tablet and looked up at him with a sigh, eyes pausing on his. Nobody had moved at all. Her eyes flicked to everyone, impatient. 

“What? Is he not free to leave?” She snapped back at the group, who was sitting in silence, contemplating. 

Washington was staring off into the distance, fist to his mouth.   
“He is, but he also has rights to know of your discovery, Mrs. Schuyler. It directly involves his safety.” 

At this point, Alexander did a double-take swinging his head between Washington and Angelica, long hair swishing over the shoulders of his tux.   
“What?” he made a rude face, and yet everyone ignored it, as per usual because he was magically exempt from any sort of respect discipline whatsoever because who the fuck knows why. Thomas spat a silent, “For God’s sake” under his breath before Angelica went on, tossing back her raven hair. 

“Fine. Agent Hamilton, to put this bluntly because we’re all tired,” She clipped, returning to her usual wit now that she wasn’t restricted by the rigid script of the interview, “My Tech Department found a site offering 900,000 US dollars for the capture or assassination of yourself and Agent Jefferson.” 

Alexander didn’t even flinch, not for a second. He just… didn’t waver at ALL. Instead, his eyes were just on his pen, twirling it lazily around his pointer finger with his mouth open in vague concentration.   
“Combined? That’s it?” 

Thomas wanted to smack him. Fucking FUCK he wanted to smack the arrogant litttle piece of--  
“Each, Agent Hamilton.” Angelica specified, and Alexander frowned in consideration, looking up to the ceiling and bobbing his head from side to side like he was weighing whether to deem that acceptable or too low. In the end, he made his decision. 

“Who’d’ya think posted the bounty?” Angelica opened her mouth to answer, but Washington cut her off, leaning forward to break up the two’s conversation. His knee brushed with Alexander’s again and Thomas’s blood spiked inexplicably in his veins, muscles tensing.   
“He has no jurisdiction to hear our speculation on that bit until the day after tomorrow.” George interrupted curtly, not giving away any personal emotion in his voice. 

Alexander’s brows swooped down, “And what if I have my own speculations to offer?”   
“Then you have no jurisdiction to give them, Hamilton.” George gestured a hand at the table, shaking his head, “I’m sorry.” 

Alexander just scoffed.  
“Alright, well since that was useless, what are you planning on doing to protect my safety.” he butted in once again, trying to weasel his way into this conversation, find a loophole to crawl into like he always fucking did. The boy tossed his pen down onto the table with a clatter,   
“Surely, I can ask that?” he raised a brow. 

But Washington did the same.  
“Mind. Your. Attitude, boy.” he clipped strictly, giving Alexander a serious look. The boy just raised his chin in the air and paused, drawing out the silence JUST long enough to be suspenseful.  
“Yes sir.” he responded with a whisper. And Thomas. Was. Fuming. 

Washington gave a curt nod, sniffing and relaxing back in his chair.   
“I have no power to regulate your place of residence whilst the contract is not implemented for another day. But as soon as it is and you are in our system, I will have it seen to that your personal articles are moved to Agent Jefferson’s floor.” George wrote all of this down on a notepad to be remembered and given to the right people. 

“You will remain paired for each other’s protection in this time of uncertainty. Is that clear?”   
Alexander laughed before Thomas could speak, the man opening his mouth to protest. 

“Sweet.” the boy smiled, retrieving his pen once again, “Which apartment do I get?” 

There was a pause where George just stared at him with his cool blue eyes, seemingly slightly puzzled. He dipped his head slightly and parted his lips. 

“...no, Agent Hamilton you will stay in Agent Jefferson’s place of residence until further notice.” That’s what finally did it. Thomas immediately backlashed, outraged. He leaned forward, placing both hands flat on the table.  
“What?” he spat, eyes flashing wildly. 

Everyone’s heads whipped to Thomas simultaneously, noting the man’s blatant display of contempt. The Virginian’s dark eyes were livid with fury, his chest panting against the front of his suit.   
“I have a say in this; I have some goddamn say in who stays on my property.”   
“You would, Agent Jefferson, if it was your property.” Washington replied coolly, yet a fair note of warning rang in the tone of his voice. Thomas ignored it, outraged. 

Alexander just leaned back in his seat, watching it all play out in light amusement. This was GOOD. As if the night hadn’t been entertaining enough already; bring out the popcorn. His job here was already done--he had started the evening with the upper hand, lost it, and now he was back on top again, back in the game, manipulating Thomas like a pawn to his chessboard. Oh he didn’t know it, but BOY…. was he dancing at the tips of Alexander’s fingers…. 

“Get him a bodyguard; I don’t care. I don’t want him in my house.” Thomas was still protesting firmly.   
“Agent Jefferson.”   
“I’d rather stick a cell tower up my goddamn-”

“AGENT. JEFFERSON.” 

The Director brought a hand down slapping to the wood, jolting the five other people around the table to alertness and making the scattered pens rattle on the impact. Thomas shut his mouth indignantly, shocked. It was known that Washington had a cool authority over his members, everyone knew that, but eventually there’s a breaking point. And with everyone’s caffeine-fueled sleep-deprived midnight meeting attitudes, the breaking point had been significantly dropped for everyone present. 

Washington hardly hesitated a moment before going off on Thomas, who was grinding his molars violently in the back of his jaw. Alexander leaned back, hand to his mouth as he was BURSTING not to laugh, vein popping in his forehead as he desperately held it back. Holy. Fucking. Shit. Thomas. Jefferson... he thought to himself. 

“Out of all my agents, YOU are not the one I would expect to show such disrespect to your superiors, Jefferson,” he began, lips pursed as his eyes seething, “You are a sensible man, not a child, and your preference on how Mr. Lafayette and I conduct the safety of this operation is not for you to challenge. And never with such contempt for myself, do I make myself perfectly clear?” 

He finished curtly, enunciating on every consonant. Thomas just fumed silently, head held high despite his blazing cheeks. With that impeccable posture, he just sat with his fury and waited, waited for someone else to say something. 

Washington sighed, collected his tablet in front of him and loosened his tie.   
“I don’t want to hear anything of this matter ever again. It will be done.” he growled, pushing his chair back to stand, and naturally, everyone else did in respect, filling the room with screeching and shuffling of paper. Washington just cleared his throat and breezed by them, followed closely by Angelica and Tench, who were clearly on his side in this little battle. 

“And someone get me an aspirin, goddamnit.” he grumbled into the outside hallway, tucking his tablet under his arm and striding poisedly out of the conference room. Angelica’s heels clicked behind him, turning her flashing eyes over her shoulder as she passed Thomas. 

“Really? Really?” She whispered under her breath, shaking her head with an annoyed distaste.   
Fuck. Well, that had gone smoothly. 

When those three had glided out as if on air, it just left Thomas, Alexander, and Lafayette standing around the empty table. 

Alexander slowly brought his hand down from his mouth and wheezed, not a sound coming out as he breathlessly lost his fucking shit. Lafayette turned his head from Alexander to Thomas, confused, but Alexander just shook silently, placing a small hand on the back of a chair for support when he inhaled a breath deep enough to deoxygenate Headquarters and WHEEZED. 

Thomas and Lafayette stared at him. 

“Oh... Oh, SHIT that was good, Thomas.” he roared, slapping the back of the leather chair with his palm, bending over so that his hair fell out from behind his ears and swung around his face. Lafayette let out a little cough and ran a hand over his mouth, rubbing, and hiding his own embarrassed little smile.  
Thomas, however, was NOT… so amused. His face darkened in disgust, brows pulling in whilst he slapped his hand on top of his pen, spitting a curse under his breath and whipping around. His suit fluttered as he flung open the door so hard that it hit the wall and BOOMED. 

Lafayette jumped at the sound twisted around to watch him go, craning as the door swung closed. His eyes widened.   
“Mon Dieu, what did you do to make him so mad, Xandér?” The boy was already, skirting around the edge of the table, jogging for a few steps while buttoning his tuxedo.   
“We need a separate meeting for that topic, my friend.” he laughed distractedly, making it to the door and pulling it open.   
“See you tomorrow, Lafs, I’ve got to go deal with my new roomie.” 

Lafayette just laughed again, burying his face in his hand.   
“You are going to get yourself killed, mon cher frère.”   
“One of these days, bud. One of these days.” Alexander walked backwards for a few steps with a wink, still hopping at a happy little jog before turning back forwards to catch up to Thomas. His feet clicked on the marble floors as he jogged up to the man’s side, sidling up next to him JUST as he entered the elevator. Alex turned sideways and narrowly squeezed through the closing doors right on time. 

Once again, the two agents were alone in an elevator. The endless night seemed to repeat itself over and over. 

“Hey Thomas, I don’t think I heard the end of that sentence.” he laughed breathlessly as they descended, “You’d rather shove a cell tower up your WHAT than live with me?” Alex ran his fingers through his hair, lost in his amusement. Thomas didn’t face him, just stared straight forward and grasped his pen in his clenched fist. It faintly crackled in the silence as it snapped in half within his palm.  
“Ohhh that was so good, Thomas, well done, truly. I don’t have to watch Bee Movie ever again, you just beat it--may I note how difficult that is.” Alexander clapped sarcastically with a high exhale. 

He lit up, remembering another point, “Oh, and your little stunt with the shock cuffs, they hurt like a motherfucker, I’ll have you know.”   
Thomas gritted his teeth and Alexander looked up at him in the glaring lights of the elevator, clearly seeing his jaw muscle grinding.   
“Good. Hope you suffered the whole time.” 

“Oh, I did.” Alexander nodded, tucking his hair behind his ears, “But this was SO worth it, man.” he swallowed, still panting from his little fit, Alex propped himself up comfortably in the corner, wedging himself in there and crossing his arms with a tiny sigh. 

“Didn’t know you had such a mouth on you with Washington.” he mentioned conversationally like he was discussing the new burger choice in the mess hall, “When did that start?”   
“None of your business.” Thomas clipped, still not looking at him as the elevator doors dinged and glided open smoothly. Thomas breezed out, tossing his basically shattered pen behind him without any more fucks to give.   
Alex just watched it clatter to the floor and roll to his foot for a moment, cracked and splintered. Holy shit. Thomas had demolished the poor thing with a single hand, the wood shards crumbling off onto the floor. Alexander snapped out of it, leaping to a jog. 

He shook his head and laughed again, “You’re tricky, Thomas.” he caught up to him, struggling to keep in stride when Thomas was so tall and he was so… well… NOT.   
“Am I now?” Thomas scoffed, absolutely done with him for the night. Hell, for a good month and a half.   
“Yes.” Alexander nodded, leaning up against the wall like Lucy on Schroeder’s piano while Thomas fished his card out of his wallet. 

“I can’t tell who you even bone in this place anymore. But hey, buddy, no judging if you’ve got it hot for ol’ Cherry Tree.”   
“Do you have any morals left--he’s my BOSS, filth.” Thomas spat, kicking open his door aggressively and slinging it closed behind him, only to be caught by Alexander’s palm. The man just shook his head, knowing Alexander was following him but at this point he knew to just let the little shit say what he wanted and he’d fuck off. 

“Yeah he’s my boss too, baby. Didn’t stop me.”   
Thomas stopped and whirled around not ten feet into his apartment. Now THIS got his attention.

“That’s disgusting. And don’t fucking call me ‘baby’.” He spat the word like it tasted vile on his tongue.   
A sly smile spread on Alexander’s face.   
“I think you and I have a different definition of disgusting, driver-boy.” he shrugged, tucking his hands in his pockets. Thomas swept him with his eyes as Alexander bit hit lip, looking up at him through his dark lashes, “I mean, I like the idea of the big man teaching you some manners. Kinda turns me on.” 

For a few beats, Thomas’s body malfunctioned so all he could do was gape.   
Tonight was not the night. Tonight was NOT the night for Alexander to be pushing his luck; Thomas was already on the edge of his very last nerve after all of this bullshit and GOD was he going to snap at any moment. 

“You… FILTHY little--” Thomas took a massive stride forward and raised a hand to slap him clean across the mouth, but Alexander smoothly ducked under his arm, coming out the other side and stood right back up, sure to casually straighten his cuffs like the arrogant little shit he is. Thomas whirled around again, breathing sharp, livid breaths through his bared teeth. Alexander just smiled, brows raised. 

“Did I say ‘kinda’? Sorry, I meant ‘definitely’.” He laughed again as Thomas snarled and took another go at him, diving for his waist this time instead of his head. Alexander twisted experty out of his grasp but didn’t anticipate that Thomas knew exactly what he was planning to do. The man twisted just the same, snagging his gnarly hair and kneeing him point-blank in the gut with a sickening grunt. 

For a moment nobody moved. 

Alexander made a pitiful hurt-animal noise and froze, looking like he was about to throw up. Thomas watched him realize what had just happened.   
The boy slowly… slowly crumpled over. He swayed and staggered nauseatingly forwards and Thomas stepped back, but not before Alexander reached aimlessly, blindly forward and managed to cling to his tie and used it for support. He slung his other arm around his own soft middle, breathing in deep shaky breaths. His eyes were squeezed shut and watering from impact. 

“Shit…” he hissed breathlessly between his teeth, falling into Thomas, who he expected would catch him, but instead the man sidestepped elegantly, snagging the back of the boy’s collar as he went down. He bunched up the material in his hand, seething quietly as he lowered Alexander halfway down, but no further. When he knew he wouldn’t injure the kid, he let go of his collar roughly, throwing him like a bag of trash to the sleek hardwood floor with a thud. 

Thomas felt the power shift right back into the palm of his hand. 

There was a low groan that echoed in the apartment, making Thomas smile lightly in satisfaction. Alex just curled up pitifully around himself, slowly rocking onto his back. But Thomas had had quite enough to know what his plans for the rest of the evening would be, indeed. He had no obligations at the moment except for this little shit. And Thomas was a man who always took great care of his obligations. 

Alexander finally made it to his back, flopping, belly-up, to stare at the ceiling, arms wrapped snugly around his tuxedo shirt. And he was shaking. Thomas cocked his head emotionlessly, opening his mouth to ask if he was crying until he saw the smile. What...?

“Oh man…” Alexander exhaled shakily, covering his face with a flopping hand, vibrating again with silent laughter, “If you spit on me or something I’m gonna get a boner, Jefferson, just letting you know.” he wheezed, “Fuck, that hurt like a son of a bitch.” 

Thomas curled his lip, still looking down over Alexander, shadow cast from his elaborate light arrangement in his living room.  
“So you love getting hurt, do you.” It was a statement not a question, “Degraded.” 

Alexander managed one last laugh, jerking stiffly to his elbows and then to his hands and knees, grunting with effort.   
“Maybe even more than I love Bee Movie.”   
“A high margin to beat, I’ve heard.”   
“Really hard.” Alexander groaned, rising sorely to his feet and exhaling once again, running a hand through his hair as he blinked the tears out of his eyes, “Kinda like me right now.” he laughed lightly, tucking his hair behind his ears and moving his hands to his pockets again, gazing up and around with a satisfied sigh. 

Thomas watched him, already irritated again.   
“What are you doing?” He snapped. Alex just shrugged with a frown.   
“Just checking out my new place.” He nodded as he observed the apartment like he’d never seen it before, but since he was going to move in, it seemed like a whole new world. God, compared to the monotonous four walls of the penitentiary cell… this was a French cathedral. 

The place--as was the modern style-- open concept. On walking in, one was already surrounded by the bright, glittering “windows”, the living room was to the right and had two couches and two chairs all around a sleek, low coffee table. To the left were the delicate metal stairs that led up to the loft, which was a guest bedroom with it’s own sitting room and bathroom, hidden from direct view from downstairs. Alexander’s new place, it seemed.   
Walking straight forward, the kitchen was also to the right, and further down was Thomas’s bedroom. To the left beneath the stairs was a round, actually spherical room with no door, it was the den with a curved couch and huge, curved flatscreen to match the theme of the space. But beyond everything at the very end there was a dip down of just one step to a lowered area surrounded by more windows that served as an office space. Alexander drank in the tiny architectural details and sighed, what a fucking palace. He could afford the same, but hell, he was getting THOMAS’S, which somehow made the victory all the more sweet. 

The Virginian rolled his eyes, turning away to stroll to his bedroom, apparently just leaving Alexander there to do as he pleased. The boy sniffed, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it lazily onto the couch before following Thomas. He should probably go. But not yet. 

The man was already in his bedroom, swinging the shock cuffs around one finger when Alex arrived. His head lifted when Alexander appeared in the doorway. 

“So how’d you do it, Hamilton?” He twirled them one more time and then caught them with a clink, slapping against his palm. God… Alexander’s eyes swept the man, skimming over his delicious figure in that tailor-made suit. When he sat down on the bed, you could REALLY see the prize… He'd always had a thing for guys in suits but perhaps he had more of a thing for THOMAS in suits. 

Alexander blinked and licked his lips, recovering.   
“Gonna have to be more specific.” 

Thomas “hmph”-ed through his nose with a toss of his chin.   
“Gonna be a difficult little shit, are you?” Alexander crossed his arms and shrugged, leaning against the doorframe with a grin.   
“Perhaps.” 

Thomas exhaled and stood, casting Alexander a glance over his shoulders as he paced quietly, slowly to the cabinet on the left side of the bed, placing his long fingers on the knob. Oh...

Alexander’s heart fluttered in his chest, stealing his breath away for a moment. He wanted to see what was inside... Or did he? And Thomas knew he wanted to see, so of course, he drew it out as long as possible. 

The man slowly, pulled open the cabinet door. Wide. 

Alexander surreptitiously peered around him, trying to make out the contents that weren’t blocked by Thomas’s frame. He swallowed, mouth dry at what he could glimpse. Expensive black leather devices dangled from hooks, some indistinguishable, and some quite the opposite. Alexander could plainly see a neatly coiled up whip with a glinting iron handle. And draped on the door itself was clearly multiple sets of suspension cuffs, iron, leather, and both, swaying lightly and clinking with the movement of the door. Alexander’s heart thudded, blood roaring in his ears when he caught sight of a steel mesh caging peeking out of view. A… muzzle. 

Alexander’s eyes darted rapidly, desperately trying to take it all in before Thomas stepped away, feeling the clock ticking. He could see other items on the shelf that were less clear in purpose. Ten tiny paperclip-sized clamps. The whole top shelf was dominated by what looked like… medical lotion bottles? Not lube; it didn’t look like lube… but wait, there was one…

Thomas gave Alexander a half-hidden sideways glance and saw the boy curiously glimpsing the contents. His brows swooped down.   
“The hell are you looking at?” he snarled, hanging the cuffs on a hook and clicking the door shut, hiding away the contents. Alexander shrugged, smoothing over his interest. 

“Nothing. Never thought you’d be so kinky, thought.” his lips twitched into a smirk as Thomas slowly slipped off his suit jacket, laying it quietly over the bed sheets that were still messy and tossed from Alexander’s little escape. 

Thomas wasn’t amused, black eyes finding Alexander’s across the room.   
“What makes you think it’s any of your goddamn business?” He snarled defensively, throwing his walls up so hard they slammed Alexander in the face. Alex was caught off guard by his sudden bitterness.   
“Dunno, kinda seems like my business, man.” He scoffed.   
“It’s not. So stop talking about it.” 

Alexander furrowed his brows, sensing the tension beginning to grow out of thin air. How did they always come back to this? Always right back to the start. He straightened up from his relaxing, leaning position, all eyes on Thomas.  
“Oh, okay, so when you busted in my ass today it wasn’t my business?” he scoffed, shaking his head.   
“No.”  
“Oh, alright, my mistake.” Alexander nodded with mock realization, exemplifying just how ridiculous that notion was, “Thanks for that deep and intricate reasoning, Sherlock.” 

“Alexander…” Thomas’s tone was… far darker, dripping with plentiful warning that Alexander completely ignored. The boy uncrossed his arms, stepping inside the room with slow… slow strides, taking his sweet time. 

“No. No, Thomas, don't tell me you were punishing me for any ‘behavior’ bullshit. If that was a freakin policy of yours you’d’ve fucked me right there in the asylum chair.”   
Thomas loomed beside the bed, shaking his head slowly in utter speechlessness.

“How dare you…” he whispered, staying right there in his spot whilst Alexander approached.   
“Yes, how dare me, Thomas. How dare me state the obvious.” Alex gasped tauntingly eyes wide as if he’d just said something preposterous. 

“Wanna knee me in the fucking pancreas? Light me up with your little toys?” Alexander grinned, head tilting up as he finally halted his little catwalk. He paused, so close to the lion’s den. He could smell Thomas, that violently masculine musk engulfed all of Alexander’s senses, tempting his mouth to water. There was heat radiating from him too, physical heat that Alexander could feel on the skin of his face. The boy trailed a single fingernail up the satin of Thomas’s shirt, starting by his naval and working at a crawling pace up his belly and chest, barely grazing him. 

“Go ahead, Thomas. Do it. You know you want to.” Alexander breathed hotly, tilting his pretty, boyish face up to Thomas’s with parted lips, daring him.  
He grabbed Thomas’s pricey black tie, wrapping it once around his knuckles and pulling him down. Thomas was stuck once again. GOD he needed to punish this boy… but as soon as he did, he proved him right--that his toys, his… lifestyle WAS Alexander’s business. And he’d entangle himself even further into it until there was no way out, a rabbit in a snare, a noose tightening slowly around his throat. 

Alexander glided his other palm in the scant space between their pelvises, just brushing over the obvious swollen bulge in his pants. The boy bit his own lip, stroking a thumb over the line of the shaft, torturously tracing where he knew that vein would be.   
“Yeah, you do want to, don’t you?” He laughed under his breath as Thomas didn’t speak another word, just shoved his hand up under Alexander’s bowtie, curling his fingers around it like a dog collar and yanking it forward with a twist and a tiny gasp from the recipient. 

Alexander breathed a laugh, onto Thomas’s face, close enough that their breath was mixing between their parted lips. He closed his eyes and brushed them over Thomas’s, letting him have scarcely a teasing taste.   
“Unfortunately, I’m ‘a difficult little shit’.” he opened his eyes, lips curling into a smile against Thomas’s. There was a beat’s pause before Thomas’s eyes snapped open too, the moment lurching to a skidding halt. Alex just laughed, taking his hand away from Thomas’s clothed cock and lowering down from his tiptoes, letting his smooth tie slip through his hand like a satin snake. 

He sighed a deep sigh, straightening his bowtie comically.   
“And I want to call it even tonight.” Thomas was breathing heavily against his tie, chest rising and falling with an even mixture of hatred, arousal, and pent up fury. He screwed up his lips as Alexander continued talking. 

“You leave me horny, I leave you horny. With nothing you can possibly do about it. Seems fair to me.” Alex shrugged, “But I’m gonna stay with Laurens tonight, get a good dicking before my bedtime. But not you.” Alexander twitched a brow at him, backing slowly towards the door JUST as Thomas had done. 

The man shook his head dangerously slowly, eyes seething with resentment.   
“Don’t you walk out that door…” he warned, growling deep within his chest. Alexander cocked his head to the side, mocking him with a sad, pouty face. 

“What? Thought you’d rather stick a cell tower up your ass than stay with me.” He stuck out his bottom lip, “Wish granted FUCKER.” he broke his little act, flashing Thomas an aggressive middle finger and curled lip. Thomas’s temper finally ripped through the surface like a wrecking ball, bursting forth all at once in a deluge of fury. 

“DON’T walk out that door you little SHIT.” he roared, his deep voice booming in the domed room. Alexander laughed. 

“Gag on my diddly damn cock, dipshit.” he fired right back, placing a hand on the doorframe and swinging himself out like he was performing “Singing in the Rain”.   
“See you tomorrow, technically.” he called from the main area of the apartment, snagging his coat off the couch where he’d left it with one finger and tossing it over his shoulder.

He was right, it was past midnight so technically speaking their training started tomorrow. Thomas didn’t respond; who knows what he was doing in there. 

“Have a good night, driver-boy. I’ll bring my stuff here today at seven P.M., that work?”   
Once again, no response with his hand on the knob. The boy smoothed his hair down, perking up his ears for sounds but there were none. He’d really done it this time. Tonight wasn’t ‘even’, he thought. He had definitely… definitely won. Just as he’d planned to. Alex couldn’t suppress the smirk that followed him out the door and into the quiet hallway; GOD he had so much to tell Laurens. What a fucking night. 

The idea of Thomas furiously trying to find a release and completely unable made him fantasize amusedly.   
Funny how power worked for the sub. Very… funny.


	9. Eight Shot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love you all so much! I hope everyone is staying healthy and safe! Read on, and thank you so much for all of the support; it really means the world to me! 😊❤️

It was the next morning at eight o’ clock A.M. that Alexander got his phone back for the first time in a year. He sat in the dull waiting room, bouncing his left leg boredly as he waited. They’d kept his stuff in the highest security vault-safe down at the very bottom of Headquarters where the storage units were, so now he had been stuck twenty minutes for them to fish out his phone.  
The fluorescent lights buzzed above him and the paneled walls and tiled ceilings were driving him batty. Let alone the monotonous gray carpet, God, he despised the color. He wished someone else were in the mind-numbing room to talk to, but it was just him. 

He glanced around, ears perking at the click of heels on tile. The steps softened when they reached the carpet. He lifted his head to peer over the desk from the plastic chair he was sitting in. 

The gray-haired, plump lady had finally returned with a sniff, typing something in on the ghastly old computer keyboard. Her nails clicked on the keys as she logged his information in.  
She took a deep breath, “And we have the waiver from Mr. Washington?”  
“Yep. And that I can get the rest of my stuff tonight.” 

She didn’t look up at him, just kept typing. Alexander was growing impatient, but he swore to himself he’d behave and wait; the better he waited, the quicker he got the hell out, he reminded himself.  
“When will you be returning?” Alexander bit his tongue that was about to say, “hopefully never”, and swallowed.  
“Tonight at six thirty.”  
She typed in a few more letters agonizingly slowly. His phone was just SITTING there on the counter in plain sight. Alex stood from his seat to halt the tapping of his leg or he’d break a fucking knee. Finally, finally, she handed him the phone across the counter and he extended his hand, taking it and placing it calmly in his pant pocket despite every urge to look. 

“Thank you.” he clipped, turning curtly and striding out of the room. The moment the door had swung shut behind him, he bolted to the elevator, stepping inside and pressing the button for Lauren’s floor. He turned and waited, waited for the doors to close. They were going to agonizingly SLOWLY, like they were just teasing him on purpose. Alexander's heart was thumping in his chest... he had been anticipating this moment all night.

And as soon as he was alone in the space, he fished his phone out from his pocket, shakily tilting it up to recognize his face. A part of his mind was reluctant, wary, but the rest of it was far too curious to care. As he ascended, the screen unlocked on recognizing his face, and he noted the red bubble above the imessage icon. 

Alexander’s eyes widened. His heart swooped exactly as he feared it would. 

Seven hundred messages. 

He couldn't believe it. Who could they all possibly be from? He'd never have a chance to read them all, especially not now. With a trembling thumb, he clicked on it with an incoming sense of dread. His eyes darted across the screen, just reading the tidbits of the messages that he could see, but the onrush was far too overwhelming, too much to take in at once. He shook his head to clear it, scrolling and scrolling until he reached the bottom of the new messages. He took a deep breath in, not letting it out as he began there. 

“Lmao brought Dixie w me.”  
“Jefferson coming too?”  
“Where r you? You said you’d make it since you were out West?”  
“Dude, why aren’t you here? Not cool.”  
“Told like 80 ppl you’d be here. Tf r u?”  
“Wasted XD”

He remembered. He had planned to go to a party that night and bring Jefferson. An old friend wanted some clout. He scrolled up, screen reflecting in his hazel eyes. The next messages were a few hours later. 

“K no response.”  
“Wow. Dope party, got sucked off by a drunk chick in the middle of the pool. Sry u missed it tho.”  
“So were u at work or did u just ditch? Idc just wanna know...”  
“Lmao glad u didn’t come, Seb was boutta fuckin seduce Jefferson the way he was talking about him all night.” 

Alexander’s heart was racing, reading all of these messages from forgotten friends and acquaintances, the memories flooding back to him in a deluge of adrenaline. But he hadn’t seen the half of it, no. He scrolled up, blood roaring in his ears because he knew what came next... exactly what came next. 

“Holy fucking shit I saw the news. Is that fake?”

“Omg… Ali ur on TV...” 

Alexander kept scrolling, vision spotting and focusing in so all he could see was a tiny tunnel on the phone. The next barrage of texts were all from John.  
“Alex what’s going on. At HQ and hearing rumors.”  
“Please respond I’m getting a little freaked here, I’m not kidding. Stuff about Jefferson.”  
“Hello?”  
“Rumor that you shot Jefferson. Like… not by accident. Where are you? Please respond.” 

A twenty minute pause. 

“You’re on the news. Where are you? Randolph is dead? What’s going on, Alexander, I swear to God, please respond.”  
“Alexander?” 

Alex’s heart was whamming against his ribcage as he kept scrolling the pad of his thumb across the screen despite all the voices in his head screaming for him to stop. The next messages were mixed, some from friends, the rest started to become more and more from unknown numbers until it was a FLOOD of messages all from people he didn’t know. His phone number must have leaked. 

“Fuck u. You’re sick. Disgusting.”  
“Never met you but news says enough. U slaughter an 18 year old boy, ur next. Don’t care if ur 18 too, someone’s gonna get you. Watch ur back bro.”  
“Haha lmao did you shoot his body after he was dead?”  
“Good job m8. Never trusted that boi.”  
“You disgust me. I have a thirteen year old son who wanted nothing more than to follow in your footsteps. What the hell am I supposed to tell him? He’s watching the news and seeing you murdered an agent in training in cold blood. My family is absolutely sick. My son is horrified, and you are a psychopath. I would never tell him, but I hope that you fry in the electric chair as you deserve.”  
“Go back to hell.”  
“This one’s for Detroit, man. We comin for yo ass if the electric chair ain’t get u first. We putting lead in ur skull, swear on God. U give 8 bullets, ur gonna get 8 bullets. Right in the fuckin mouth.” 

The texts went on and on, and the more Alexander read, the more he slowly... gradually got used to their messages. Blah blah blah, death threats, blah blah, good job; I agreed with you, blah, go to hell, bastard, blah. It was actually kind of amusing. Eventually, Alexander was smiling lightly with every message he read, head still down and scrolling when he stepped inattentively out of the elevator and into the hall. 

But he didn’t make it very far without ramming right into a body.  
“Oof!” he grunted, staggering back a bit and tossing his hair out of his face, “Sorry I-- Oh Laurens.” 

A grin spread across his face when he realized it was his friend. John stood in uniform--like him--outside the elevator. Black suit and tie with his hair neatly combed into a ponytail at the nape of his neck.  
“Tryna take me out?” John brushed himself off from their little collision and stepped into the elevator as well with a sniff. Alexander winked at him.  
“You know it, cutie.”  
“Gay-ass.”  
They both snorted as John pressed the floor for the HUB. His friend cast him a glance.

“What floor?”  
Alexander floundered, realizing he’d just completely lost his moorings. “Uhh… I was coming to see you.  
“Well I’m going for lunch, wanna come?”  
“It’s eight in the morning.”  
“Kay, brunch.” 

“Yeaaaah, I’m gonna pass.” Alexander scoffed, trying to think of what he was supposed to do now. He needed a ride to his physical exam at the doctor’s office. He was planning on asking John. Alexander checked the time on his watch and winced. He was going to be late. 

“Shit, can you take me to Fairfax.”  
John hesitated, giving him a sideways look, a little skeptical.  
“...Why, you sick?”  
“No. Physical exam for my return, they’ve gotta have it to put me in the system as an agent. Stupid requirements.”  
“That’s today?”  
“Yep.”  
John checked his watch, already shaking his head and pursing his lips.  
“Well I’ve got a meeting in like thirty minutes, I can’t take you. Lafs?”  
“Training rookies.”  
“Washington?”

Alexander swung his head to John sardonically, “I’m not asking the Director of the FBI to drive me to a doctor’s appointment.” John snickered despite Alexander’s lack of humor in his dry tone. He gave the boy a little glittering eye.  
“Dunno, heard he was sweet on you in the meeting last night.” Alexander paused, heart skipping a beat.  
“Says who?” Alexander’s brows swooped down, confused. He was being sweet on Washington for the sake of pissing off Jefferson, but he didn’t think it was the other way around in the slightest.  
“Lafs.”  
Alexander felt a weight come off his shoulders, “Ah. Well no, don’t get my hopes up.” Alexander snorted, for some reason a bit relieved. Lafayette saw romantic tragedies and love stories in every little conversation; everyone knew that about him, “Lafayette could watch Tom and Jerry and ship it.”  
“He’d ship it.”  
“Like the Titanic.”  
“Yup.” 

Alexander sighed, once again realizing the dilemma he was caught up in and ran a hand through his hair, pulling his phone out of his pocket. He tilted it towards his face to check the time and unlocked it to scroll through his contacts to get some ideas. He didn’t even notice John eyeballing him surreptitiously, shock written all over his face. 

“So you got your phone back?” He asked carefully, no emotion playing out yet. Alexander gave him a quick glance and then returned with a sniff, scrolling.  
“Yeah. Just now. Saw your texts.”  
“What?”  
Alexander grinned slyly, for some reason finding the whole thing comical. Only Alexander Hamilton. Only he would. 

“Your texts. From last year.”  
John wiped his mouth with his hand awkwardly and linked them behind his back and cleared his throat, mouth suddenly dry.  
“Oh. Yeah.” he coughed quietly, looking straight ahead. Alexander sensed his tension and wanted to roll his eyes. 

“Chill, yours wasn’t the most alarming. There’s tons of death threats in here too.”  
“Fuck. You’re kidding.”  
“Nah, I need a new number; this one got leaked I think.” he recited absentmindedly, browsing through his wide selections of texts.  
“Here’s a good one,” he cleared his throat, ready to do some acting. After scanning the first line, he knew it was a science geek writing this one, no doubt. He took on the whiny voice comparable to Veruca Salt in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. 

“Agent Hamilton, as a forensics enthUUUsiast,” he put emphasis on the vowel, making John choke back a snort despite his rigidness, “I know that you fired at Randolph Emerson’s head for the first two shots--based on the cooling rate of the bullets that were scanned while still in the body, killing him instantly. I also know that you next fired two into his heart, both of which would have caused him to immediately collapse to the floor. This means you fired the remaining FOUR bullets at a dead corpse. You disgust me.” 

Alexander finished with the same voice and then cracked out into laughter. He shook his head with a high sigh, scanning through some more before tucking his phone in his pocket. John was just… staring at him, somewhere between gaping and sympathetic. 

Alex finally looked up at him and did a double-take. His brows swooped down.  
“You okay?”  
John shook his head in bewilderment, hesitating a moment before responding, “Are YOU okay? That’s some pretty intense stuff.”  
“Used to it.”  
“No… THAT is pretty serious; how is that even funny?” The man scoffed, and Alex couldn't tell if he was angry at him or at the people that sent them.  
Alexander sighed again with a tiny shrug. 

“Because ‘dead corpse’ is completely redundant.” he mused, “And because it’s wrong.” Alexander chuckled as they arrived at the HUB. He wished he could go out there. No place was as fascinating, bustling, and energetic as the HUB at headquarters. But he’d sworn not to appear publicly until his contract enacted the next day. The doors slid open with a ding and the buzz of voices flowed inside the elevator. John looked over his shoulder before getting out, puzzled at his words. 

“What do you mean it’s not true?” he inquired hesitantly, a part of him not wanting the answer. Alexander crossed his ankles and leaned against the back of the elevator as the doors began to slide closed. He twitched his brows with a light smirk. 

“I shot that traitor five times after he went down. Only planned on shooting him in the mouth once, but I couldn’t resist shutting him up just a little bit more.” 

John gave him a tiny sliver of a horrified face before the doors glided completely closed, cutting him off from the world, leaving him in his own seclusion. Perhaps that is how the boy should have remained in the first place, behind bars, chained and muzzled.  
But he was the only one who truly knew who the traitor was on that night. Was Alexander psychopathic? Was he a blood-lusty murderer? Yes. But never… not for one moment was Alexander the traitor. 

**

Thomas puffed out a quick breath with every pullup, inhaling on his way down. His hands were burning on the bar, but he had ten more to go in this set. The gym at HQ had all of the highest-end equipment so no way Thomas wasn’t in there every single day. One wall was mirror, as was common, but the other was a single wall of glass that looked down onto the training course below. He knew it well, and he’d become reacquainted with it tomorrow, he knew. 

He brushed off the thought, focusing in on his workout. He was going light today; whereas he would usually do the Salmon Ladder, he wasn’t in the mood to be sore for tomorrow. Plus some guy was already on it and he wasn’t in a negotiating mood either. 

“27...28...29...30.” he counted in his head, dropping down from the bar with a sharp exhale, shoes hitting the rubber floor with a smack. His shoulders and biceps burned as he shook them out, puffing for breath. Good. The Virginian slicked back his hair and strolled slowly over to his water bottle on a bench, taking his time to stretch his arms across his chest on the way there, feeling the tight muscles relax  
And that was when his phone buzzed in his pocket, giving him a bit of a fright. He almost always had his phone on do-not-disturb. 

“Shit!” he hissed, jumping a bit and smiling tightly at a passing person so they didn’t think he was mental. He growled as soon as they passed, whipping out his phone from the pocket of his grey sweatpants, already angry at the sender for making him look stupid. 

At first, he didn’t recognize the sender’s name. But it only took a fraction of a second for it all to come flooding right back to him. His heart skipped a beat. 

He clicked on the message; it was from Allie, the profile picture was a blurry pic of seventeen-year-old Alexander with a playstation controller in his hands, leaning forward with his headset on his head and seemingly screaming at a screen in front of him that was out of sight. His blue braces were QUITE in sight, however. 

“Yo. I need a ride so if ur not doing anything, come pick me up.” 

Thomas needed a second. He lowered himself down to the bench because he needed a second to comprehend the absolute fucking entitlement packed up in that single text message. He clicked on the cursor and stared, wondering how the hell to start this. His mind-blank only lasted for a few moments before he started furiously typing away, sweaty fingers sliding on the glass. 

“A. I’m busy  
B. We made a deal you wouldn’t talk to me today  
C. Why do you have your phone?  
D. Even if I wasn’t busy, find someone else. I’m not your chauffeur”

he pressed send and watched the blue bubble deliver with a sense of satisfaction. Who the hell did he think he was? Good on him for putting him back in his place. He had his water bottle to his lips when the typing bubble popped up again with Alexander’s stupid seventeen-year-old face. God, he needed a new profile pic. 

“A. wtf are you possibly doing rn?  
B. Ik but Laurens and Lafs are busy  
C. Because I can, asshole  
D. You are actually literally my chauffeur by profession. Get your keys, sweetheart, we’re going for a ride.” 

Thomas was now feeling his temper beginning to rise, itching with annoyance, he typed furiously once again, following the little script they had fallen into. 

“A. Working out.  
B. I don’t care  
C. I don’t care.  
D. Don’t care.” 

The typing bubble popped up almost immediately this time.  
“Fine. Guess I’ll just miss my mandatory physical exam.” 

Thomas pointed his eyes towards the heavens and begged to just be taken right here and now on the gym floor. Just fucking take me now, he thought. The man rolled his head back and heaved an exasperated sigh of hatred before standing aggressively to his feet, snatching his water bottle off the bench and shoving it angrily under his arm so he could tap on the screen. 

“Parking garage. Ten minutes. You’re welcome.”  
“Two minutes. Really gtg.”  
“No. You can wait for me to get changed into a suit.”  
“No time, just come” “  
“I’m not getting out of the car, then. And I’m never doing this for you again.”  
“Thanks, love.”  
“Think twice about calling me that before I leak this profile picture to the media.”  
“?”

Thomas sent the picture, zooming in on his blurry face, and Alexander responded asap.  
“Lmfao hottie.”  
“Pretty sure the words coming out of your mouth right then were ‘fuck you, scrub, I fucked your mom last night. Git good’.”  
“I wasn’t twelve.”  
“Whatever. Shut up now and be there; I’m not waiting for you.” 

Thomas signaled for his car to be prepared and tucked his phone angrily into his pocket. He flung open the gym doors to stride down the hallway with the restrooms and water fountains. Fucking little twerp, God if he could give one person in the world an obliterable noogie, it was that twat-wad. He wiped the sweat out of his face with the hem of his shirt, tossing his hair back. This could be fine, he reminded himself to cool his temper that he knew was always waiting to pounce. Just one ride and then hours before seven o' clock. Just one ride. 

**

“Jefferson.” The boy opened his arms with a grin. He was leaning against the side of Thomas’s Nightcrawler, already growling in the echoey space.  
“Miss me?”  
Thomas snorted, taking his keys off the roof and rounding to his side of the vehicle.  
“Desperately.” he sneered sardonically, lowering down to swing into the car like second nature. Alexander snickered, doing the same as Thomas revved up the engine, whining in the empty garage just for show. Damn, that man loved that car more than Cameron’s dad in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. The boy settled into his seat with a sigh, not needing to adjust it at all. 

Thomas flicked his shades over his face and leaned back, placing his wrist on the leather wheel. And oh… OH.

Alexander’s eyes widened a little bit, a malicious smirk trying to tug at his lips. That man’s cock was outlined clear as day in those fucking gray sweatpants. Alexander began to physically salivate. 

“Hot damn, Jefferson.” he scoffed, eyeing him up and down smugly, “I love a man in uniform, but shit, I don’t think you need one.”  
Thomas smiled sweetly straight ahead and wrinkled his nose fondly with a hum.  
“Mmm, stop talking.” he purred as kindly as tender could be. It was mockery, Alexander noticed as they started to ascend towards ground level on the platform. 

The car was silent for only a few blissful moments before Alexander couldn’t hold his tongue any longer. 

“So. How was the rest of your evening last night?” he inquired lightly. Thomas’s fingers twitched on the wheel, and then there was a hesitation. It was barely noticeable, anybody else wouldn’t pick up on it, but the nineteen-year-old did. He REALLY did. He raised his eyebrows, trying not to smile.  
“Ah, so not good?” 

“Not a single part of last night was ‘good’, unless you liked being shot at.” Thomas defended.  
“No, not really.” Alexander shrugged casually as the platform locked into place with an echoing bang in the warehouse.  
“But I like a good ogasm. Or in last night’s case, an average one. I’ll give ya a four out of five stars on Yelp.” he taunted. 

“Mm.” Thomas grunted, trying to curtail the conversation as soon as possible, but there was no fucking hope in the world with this asshole. He’d TOLD him to stop bringing it up but every time he saw him, their sexcapade was the FIRST thing out of his mouth; he wouldn’t give it up.

“I mean, I think we could’ve fit three or four more in if you weren’t being so difficult.” he sniffed and placed his elbow up on the window.  
“When we got back… and after the meeting…” he counted off on his fingers with a wistful sigh, reminiscing, but Thomas could only wait for so long without giving a piece of his mind. 

“Okay, first of all, don’t say ‘we’, it’s making me want to put my fist through your face.” Thomas finally broke his silent treatment, jerking the car into reverse and slinging them out with a burst of speed. He didn’t even turn around when he swung the car seamlessly from backwards to forwards, shifting gears in an instant with a screech of tires on gravel. 

“Second of all, the first time was a mistake and I told you that, and I told you not to bring it up. So don’t talk about it again.”  
“Mistake?” Alexander responded in farce hurt as they skirted out of the lot, engine whining as they put on another burst of speed, bolting forward. 

“I wouldn’t call a four star experience a ‘mistake’. Especially not with me.”  
“And why is that, Alexander?” he growled between clenched teeth, yanking the wheel to merge onto the highway.

“Well,” Alexander began, glancing across at Thomas and lifting his chin in the air.  
“I’ve got a lineup of big boys just like you waiting to hit it.”  
“Do you, now?” Thomas returned the glance, challenging him. Alexander just kept his lightly amused, smug personality, straightening his watch on his wrist. 

“And as I’ve heard you’ve got a line of pretty twinks drooling over your every word too.”  
“Well, you heard right.” Thomas confirmed in that deep voice of his, “Got a few coming over tomorrow night, so you’d better keep the noise down.” 

Alex’s stomach lurched unexpectedly. Woah. That took Alexander’s plan for the conversation right off the rails and crashing into a fucking wall. He faltered for a moment, cheeks flushing.  
“Wha?” he breathed. Thomas shrugged.  
“My place, bitch. You stay quiet in your room while I… entertain my guests.” Alexander looked across the dash to see Thomas’s light smirk even though he couldn’t read his eyes. 

“You’re bluffing.”  
“Try me.”  
“What’re their names?”  
Thomas barked a high laugh, genuinely tickled at the thought.  
“Oh please, Alexander, you think I remember their names?” 

Oh, this was good.  
Alex could jump his train right back onto the tracks now, fantastic. Jefferson had put him right back where he wanted to pick up.  
“Exactly, Jefferson.” he spoke coolly with a deep nod. Thomas could feel the power shifting right back into the boy’s hands out of thin air.  
“You and I, we’re in high demand. We’re in high places.” he purred with a seductive little shrug, “You don’t call our little fling an accident, driver-boy. That would be like Amazon and Google ‘accidentally’ making a deal.” 

Thomas didn’t respond, just rested his wrists on the wheel. To his greatest disgust, he actually understood what Alex was trying to say. Nevertheless, he was ready to challenge his every word. 

“And your insufferably vague point is…?” he prompted, annoyed. Alexander grinned forward, watching them weave between the rest of the world’s traffic.  
“My point is that we’re both drowning in copper looking for gold, Jefferson.” he purred sweetly, shuffling his hips forward in the seat so Thomas could faintly see his pretty frame, the just barely definable line of his hip bones.  
“Why should we mingle with the peasants when we’re stuff made for kings.”

“Poetic.” Thomas sneered, “I hardly consider you a king, Hamiltnon.” He looked out the window, craning for the hospital exit, “More like a... chambermaid.” he grumbled, turning the wheel in a way that was somehow sexy to Alexander. Could driving be sexy? Thomas made it sexy. 

Alexander’s eyebrows twitched a bit, catching onto the end of his previous sentence.  
“Stop calling me Hamilton, I feel like I’m talking to Washington.” Alexander changed the subject. 

“Oh but you fancy that, don’t you?” Thomas shamed with a light laugh, merging into another lane. Alexander rolled his eyes, cheeks burning a bit and regretting that he’d told Thomas about his little kink for Washington in a heated moment.  
“No. Why don’t you call me Allie anymore; that one would work.”  
Thomas made a mock contemplative face, “Hmm… I don’t know, Alexander; maybe it’s because I fucking hate everything about who you are as a person.” 

“Well. I think we’re lucky.” Alexander smiled softly and placed his hands up behind his head, stretching in the morning sunlight streaming through the car window.  
“You’re very open about your hate, not everyone can do that. Most people just give the silent treatment.”  
“You bet your ass I can do that one too. I wish you would give it a try.”  
“Ha. Clever.”  
“Known to be.” he sniffed arrogantly, tossing his chin a bit and pushing his shades up on his face. He leaned back in his seat and slung his arm over the back of Alexander’s, lounging a bit.  
“Alright, we’re getting close and I’m getting sick of talking to you, so let me be straight with you.” 

Alexander sighed, straightening his sleeves.  
“Alright.” he looked over at him politely, remembering his manners. Thomas just kept driving and held up a finger.  
“One. Nobody hears about our brief sexual intercourse.” 

Alex immediately made a face like he’d tasted something sour, “Jesus, Thomas, I think you just said ‘quickie’ in the most dick-softening way possible.”  
“Well, good thing I’m not trying to turn you on, then, isn’t it?” he sneered clapping right back with his authority. He swung the car into a huge parking lot, Inova Fairfax Hospital looming over them.  
“Secondly, I don’t care how desperate and dick-starved you are, that’s a you-problem, so figure it out.” he pointed harshly at Alexander as he swerved them perfectly into a parking spot and shifted the car into park. Alexander just sat back and watched as Thomas turned the key in the ignition and the Nightcrawler fell silent, and then looked at him. The man whipped his shades off and found Alexander’s eyes with his own dark ones. 

“You deal with that on your own. Don’t involve me in your games because I don’t give a rat’s ass if you’re horny. From now on, that's a rule.” he gestured punctually at Alexander with his shades.  
Alexander frowned and shrugged indifferently, “Fine. No more sexual contact between us. Strictly hate and business.”  
“Hit it right on the nose, Allie.” Thomas sneered, seemingly not catching himself or even realizing what he had said at all. He was about to look away, but he DID catch the look on Alexander’s face, the wicked grin spreading slyly on his dark lips. 

He paused, eyes scanning the boy’s sudden change in mood. 

“Yes?” Thomas sneered without a hint of warmth. Alex just bit his lip, knowing that Jefferson knew that he knew he loved that. The boy was well aware as he saw Thomas’s Adam's apple bounce when he swallowed.  
“You called me Allie.”  
“No I didn’t.” Thomas curled his lip, spitting the words at him. Alexander shook his head.  
“Yeah. You did.” 

Thomas closed his eyes, lips moving in a rapid prayer as if he was asking the lord for strength not to snap the kid’s jaw. He clenched and unclenched a fist before opening his eyes and tightly straining out his next words.  
“Not the point. The point is that you bring your satanic sexual needs somewhere else.”  
“Says you.”

“Are. We. Clear.” Thomas clipped, spitting through his gritted teeth. A silence followed in the sports car heavy and vibrating. Thomas just watched him, temper already hinting its wrath in his pitch eyes. The stage was set for Alexander’s next move. Thomas waited. He had the floor. 

“Fine.” Alexander shrugged, unbuckling his seatbelt and letting it zip away from his body.  
“I was planning on giving you a BJ as a thanks for the ride, but I mean, if you don’t want any of that…” he cocked his head at Thomas before pushing open the car door with his foot, “Your decision.” 

Thomas stared at him, lips parted in absolute shock. The teenager placed one foot outside on the concrete, looking at Thomas expectantly. The man had no fucking clue if Alexander was bluffing or playing one of his little mind games with him; there was no way to distinguish his motives.  
Nevertheless, Thomas’s eyes wavered a bit as the picture painted itself in his mind; he couldn’t help it… Alexander kneeling between his knees on the floor of the car as he revs her up, his pretty hazel eyes gazing up at him as he pops his cock out of his sweatpants and glides his little tongue up the prominent vein, coming down on the head and struggling to fit it in his mouth. He’d gag. God, Thomas would love it if he’d gag. 

Alexander read his mind like a pop-up book before Thomas could shake away the vivid imagination.  
“Second thoughts?” He smirked. Thomas just flicked his shades back over his eyes, shaking his head slowly at the ceiling. 

“Get out. And I’m not picking you up, so find someone else.” He jammed the key back in the ignition, Nightcrawler wailing to life again. Alexander stepped out of the car but turned back around, hands on the roof to lean down and look inside. Thomas peeked out of the corner of his eye to see Alexander’s pretty belly and waist outlined by his tailor-made shirt, just slightly see through in the daylight. 

“Kay, moving my shit into your place at seven.” he smiled down at him, “See you then, sir.”

“Don’t.” Thomas’s face grew dangerously calm, but beneath his sunglasses, his eyes were roiling with wrath.  
“Don’t what? I’m being polite.” Alexander scoffed. 

“You’re being a brat.” Thomas corrected, curling his lip.  
But… fuck. Apparently that word had as much as an effect on Alexander as ‘sir’ did on Thomas. He lowered his eyes for a brief moment, trying to hide his little helpless smirk and the sudden blush of his cheeks. Ooh… he liked that one; it was like a trigger word for him--a huge turn on that he didn’t even know the extent of until this moment, leaning into a car in a hospital parking lot. 

For a few moments, they both just stood there awkwardly, not exactly looking at each other but not looking away. The tension was hot and sudden, leaving both wondering what the hell to do now. Part of Alexander wanted to crawl right over that seat and do exactly what he said he’d do. And part of Thomas wanted him to do just that. And the other part of both of them knew he had an appointment to get to and that they’d just made a rule not to engage, more or less. Alexander took that little ‘agreement’ as more of a challenge than anything, he thought, shifting his shoes on the pavement. 

“What part of ‘get out’ did you not understand?” Thomas leered rudely, jolting both of them back to reality.  
“Okay, okay, Jesus.” Alexander scoffed holding up his hands innocently as Thomas reached across and slammed the door for him, since he wanted to take so long. With nothing more than a sniff, Thomas placed his hand on the wheel and lurched forward, engine roaring as he kicked up tiny rubble pieces with those sticky wheels and streaked past, swerving out of the parking lot. 

Alexander was left in the dust to watch him go, Nightcrawler screaming epicly in the broad daylight. The boy shook his head, dumbfounded for a few moments. He didn’t know what to think.  
But one thing was clear. He wanted Jefferson. Scratch that--he CRAVED Jefferson, more than any other man that offered himself to Alexander. Perhaps the boy found the hunt more exciting than the kill--than devouring a morsel already laying itself at his feet; he’d always been one for a manhunt, he knew. 

He turned towards the South entrance, chin tilted cockily in the air as usual. He was going to get what he wanted, like always. Thomas’s stupid little agreement or not. 

**

Thomas glanced at the time in the corner of his laptop for the millionth time, scowling when he read the offensive numbers. Eight o’ clock. Eight o’ clock at night, an hour past when he said he’d come and he still hadn’t shown. Thomas just shook his head indignantly and grumbled something insulting under his breath, returning back to his work with an irritable attitude. Whatever. He had emails to answer, and if Alexander wanted to be a little bitch he could go right ahead. 

Thomas had been in a bitchy mood all day; perhaps the extended time of sexual frustration was starting to wear on him--teasing and backing off, teasing and backing off, it was exasperating as hell. Whatever it was, it was Alexander-based, that he knew for sure, and it burned him up. 

Thomas was doing his work at the kitchen counter, not something he usually did when he had his own office, but he’d just gotten marooned out there by the little prick’s tardiness. The man tapped his foot against the rung it was resting on, trying to delve into his work. 

And finally, like a blessing from heaven or a curse from hell, the doorbell rang not three minutes later, echoing in his large apartment. His phone buzzed and lit up on the counter, a text from Allie. 

“Let me in.” Was all it said. Thomas clicked the power button and stood with a huff, wanting to leave his ass out there for another hour just because of how fucking entitled he sounded, but he’d waited long enough, and he just wanted to get this over with. Thomas adjusted his tie as he approached the door regaining his composure. Somehow he already knew he’d need it. 

As soon as he opened the door, that belief was confirmed.

“Hey.” The boy nodded his chin at him arrogantly. Thomas could see clean over his little 5’6 head to the two interns struggling with hand trucks piled with boxes. And Laurens too. Thomas’s skin immediately prickled at the sight of the man, holding down a deep, dominant growl in his chest as he forced his attention to Alexander, who he just realized was weighed down with grocery bags in either hand. 

“What the hell?” Thomas started, but Alexander cut him off.  
“I got us food too; no need to thank me.” he explained as he pushed past Thomas into the apartment, strolling in like he owned the place with plastic bags swishing around him. The interns just shrugged, looking like they had places they’d rather be as they wheeled the heavy stacks of huge boxes into the main area of the apartment. 

“Alex, where d’ya want the stuff?” John called to Alexander, who had made his way to the kitchen and hoisted the grocery bags onto the table. Thomas shook his head, snapping out of his bewildered trance to put the foot down. 

“You answer to me; this is my damn place.” he sneered hostilely at Alexander’s friend, causing his brows to swoop down in offense. So this was the first impression, huh? Thomas immediately came off as an arrogant control-freak, and John as a presumptuous moron. So be it. Thomas turned his head over his shoulder to see the boy starting to open the fridge. 

“Close that. Get over here.” he barked the command at the boy whose head popped back up, annoyed.  
“What for?”  
“You planning on tipping the gentlemen? Thought so. Come. Now.” Alexander rolled his eyes with a teenager-like huff and shoved closed the fridge door a bit less than gently. Thomas watched him with burning eyes the whole time he was walking over to them, hands stuffed in his pockets. He produced his designer Christian Louboutin wallet and leafed out two bills right from the top, pulling them crisply from the clip while twitching a challenging eyebrow up at Thomas. The Virginian didn’t get what he was playing at until he saw the bold, green “100” on each bill. His lips parted as he just barely shook his head. 

Spoiled. Little. Brat. 

“That should cover it.” Alexander spoke with good nature, clearing his throat and turning to John, “Thanks too, man. See you later.”  
John patted the top of the box with a wary glance at Thomas, who he immediately disliked. Alexander picked up on every tiny micro expression, every nit-picky little gesture.  
“Sure you don’t need any help.”  
“Nah, Jefferson’s gonna help me feel right at home.” he spoke sweetly, flashing Thomas a pearly white smile that was NOT returned, “Just a kiss from my well-wishing friend.”  
“Okay.” 

John shrugged, knowing what was up and stepped forward with his hands tucked in his pockets. Alexander removed his from his own pockets to grasp onto John’s tie, pulling him down to reach. He managed one last glance at Thomas before diving into his friend’s mouth, sure to close his eyes passionately and slip one hand into his friend’s suit, out of sight. Thomas could only stand there, starkly in the middle of the room and WATCH. And positively fucking fume in the silence. Alexander opened wide and closed again, a glimmer of tongue passing between them. 

That was when he drew the line and cut in. 

“When you’re quite finished.” He drawled, seething, fighting not to curl his lip and reveal canines as he so desired to do. Alexander lurched to a pause, managing one last kiss before pulling away, feigning breathlessness for the sake of drama. He tossed his hair out of his face and tucked it behind his ear, stepping away from John. 

“Take it easy, man.” John lifted a hand, pursing his lips awkwardly and stepping quietly from the room, letting the door click shut behind him. Now it was only Thomas and Alexander and the towers of boxes. And the silence. Alexander sniffed, wiping his wet lips with the back of his hand. 

“So.” He cleared his throat, placing an arm on top of the boxes and leaning. Thomas didn’t move a fucking muscle in his body. He was a marble statue of utter contempt. Alexander plowed through, desperate to break the ice. 

“Can I unpack the food?”  
For a moment, Alexander thought Thomas would ignore his question and lunge on him. The intensity only lasted for that long. 

“How did you have any idea what to get?” Thomas sneered, uncrossing his arms slowly. Alexander lifted his chin, turning towards the kitchen.  
“I only got the stuff worth getting. I’m a man of taste, Jefferson, don’t doubt me.”  
“Don’t kid yourself, you’re not even a man yet.”

“Hush.” Alexander laughed over his shoulder stepping up to the kitchen where he had left the bags. The crinkling of plastic sounded noisily in the space as he started to rummage through the contents, dumping things out. Thomas, on the other hand, sat down on the last seat at the counter, still mildly interested in what was in all these boxes and vaguely prickling over Laurens's display with Alex.

Alex sighed, gathering all the bags that were trying to float away a bit, and balling them up, tossing them carelessly into the corner of the countertop.  
“Okay. So we’ve got the necessary sustenance in terms of chips.” Alexander didn’t face him, just stood with his hands on his hips as if this were a matter of the utmost seriousness. 

Thomas paused for a beat. He did a double take, brows furrowing.  
“Chips?”  
“Well… the Cheetos don’t count AS much, but there’s doritos, obviously Cool Ranch; Lays salt and vinegar because plain is for pansies and straight people; and Pringles. The big tubes, don’t worry.” 

Alexander shifted to the side a bit, working down the row so that now Thomas could see the… MASSIVE pile of junk food moundig on the table. His jaw dropped to the floor. Alexander just went on as if he were giving a school lesson, talking more to himself than anything. 

“Chex mix. A FUCKload of caramel syrup because I love that shit more than I love morning sex. Ice cream in chocolate and strawberry because this is NOT a vanilla household--”  
“Alexander… I’m going to stop your hideous puns to ask you what the FUCK you think you’re doing.” 

The boy stopped, hesitated.  
He threw a scowl over his shoulder, turning around and leaning in the corner of the counter to face Thomas. He gestured impatiently to all the food, glowering.  
“Obviously giving inventory.”  
“You’re joking.” Thomas laughed out loud, but his face slowly fell as Alexander’s didn’t change a tad. Thomas grew worried, “Please tell me you’re joking.”  
“What’s your problem, man, I did you a favor.” 

Thomas buried his face in a hand and heaved a deep, long sigh, rubbing his temples. This was going to be a long night.  
“Check the fridge, Alexander.”  
“What?--”  
“Just. Check the fridge.” 

Alexander threw him a sharp, skeptical glance before reluctantly curling his fingers around the metal handle, pulling against the suction. He stood there for a few moments in the cool wafting air, observing the contents, and his mouth slowly fell more and more ajar parallel to how long he looked. The boy whipped his head around, long hair dancing around his face; his eyes were as wide as dinner plates.

“Please don’t tell me you’re one of them.”  
“One of what?” Thomas sneered impatiently. Alexander closed the fridge door, wind tousling his hair.  
“One of those losers that’s never tried jack shit except for some leaves, and go on their fucking juice cleanses and dances naked in the woods with the water nymphs or whatever.”  
“No, I’m not a… hippie disco enthusiast?” Thomas guessed, completely lost. 

“VEGAN.” Alexander burst out the word, angrily yanking a gatorade from the plastic packaging with no lack of noise, as if he were having a nervous breakdown. Thomas shook his head, beginning to find this entertaining.  
“Just because I don’t eat straight dumpster shit doesn’t mean I’m vegan.”  
“I need proof. Or this isn’t going to work, Thomas, I’m serious; I’m going to have to ask you to move out.”  
“How in the worl--”  
“Eat this caramel sauce.”  
“ExCUSE m--”  
“Hershey’s Caramel Sauce is sacred to me; eat it now or forever hold your peace.”

Alexander took the huge jug in hand, shaking it as he came up to the counter that Thomas was sitting on the other side of. The man was shaking his head, absolutely dumbfounded at this little fiasco. How in the world had his night turned from silent, mind-numbing emails to whatever the hell kind of Hollywood-gone-bankrupt, “I’m Jimmy Fallon and you’re watching the Tonight Show” type shit in under three minutes? But damn… he couldn’t help but notice how genuinely entertained he was. This was--if he dared to go that far... actually fun. 

Alex popped the plastic cap off with a thumbnail, turning it over to squeeze some of the thick, viscous, golden syrup onto his own finger. He glanced up at Thomas, setting the bottle down on the counter.  
“Prove yourself.” he held out one delicate pointer finger for Thomas to see. The man just looked at Alexander. Then the finger. Then back to Alexander again. He curled his lip.  
“You think I’m going to put my mouth on your sticky little hands.” 

“Unless you want me to dub thee ‘hippie disco boy’, yes, absolutely.” Alexander cocked his head, raising the stakes comically. Thomas actually laughed. 

He stopped, catching himself halfway through. It stopped as soon as it started. But the way it sounded… it echoed in the apartment. Now this--THIS was something even Alexander’s little skills couldn’t pick up on. Thomas had just laughed a genuine, pure, helpless laugh. Not condescending, not sneering, not in disgust. He had just… done it. 

The man coughed to cover it up, recovering in an instant.  
“Whatever. I’m going to regret this when I get herpes.”  
“Don’t worry, I wash my hands after I finger myself.” Alexander laughed lightly, watching Thomas shoot him one last razor-sharp scowl before reluctantly taking the finger into his mouth, closing on it. He flashed his dark eyes up into Alexander’s as he gently yet dominantly scraped his teeth along the pad of his finger, licking off the sticky syrup. His tongue was searing hot, flicking once over Alexander’s finger before drawing back into his own mouth.

Thomas pulled away slowly, leaning back in his chair and swallowing. 

“Satisfied?” He grumbled, crossing his arms grumpily. Alexander, however, still seemed a bit glazed in a trance, awe-struck. The boy’s lips were parted in a tiny smirk, malice glinting in his eyes. He wanted to have some fun. 

“Not yet. Rude of you not to share.” Alexander pouted, beckoning Thomas forward with nothing but his tilted forward face. Thomas’s heart slowly began to thud in his chest as he watched Alexander carefully, gracefully place a shoed foot up on the counter. Thomas’s dark eyes swept him up and down, keeping his movements slow and in-check as he gradually lifted himself up onto the tabletop, drawn to Thomas by a gravitational force. 

And hand by hand, foot by foot, he crawled seductively across the table, locking his eyes on Thomas’s. The boy took the bottle of syrup in hand and brought it forward, breath already mingling between them. Thomas reached out for it with his finger as Alexander had, but Alexander actually… pushed his hand aside, drawing an angrily shocked look from Thomas. The man growled deeply in his chest, a warning. 

Alex just raised the bottle. And kept raising it. He only stopped when he was hovering above Thomas’s mouth. Oh.  
The Virginian understood like a lightbulb going off in his brain. And for some reason, some GODdamn reason, his brain was not the only part of him that ignited like fire in that moment. 

He took the bottle from Alexander’s hand, snatching it with a sense of authority and glowering at the boy to back down as he twitched a brow and tilted it back.  
“How dare you accuse me of being selfish.” he whispered, pouring the sweet substance onto his pretty tongue. 

Alex’s lips twitched into a wicked grin, but when he leaned in to take his share from Thomas’s waiting tongue, the man backed up just the same amount, teasing him, it seemed. Alex’s eyes flickered to his, puzzled, but he understood as soon as he saw the dark dominance brooding within them. This was a game to Alexander, but to Thomas… nothing was a game. He wasn't teasing. He was waiting for Alexander to use his manners and ask for permission. 

“May I please share?” he inquired sweetly under his breath, gliding a hand up Thomas’s silky tie, slowly like the spark on the fuse of a bomb, bound to end in trouble. Thomas stared dead into his eyes, drawing closer to hover in front of Alexander’s face. He waited a moment for dramatic effect.  
And then he swallowed, licking his lips and leaving none behind. The boy’s lips parted with a tiny sound of hurt, eyes pouting. 

“Cruel.”  
“Consider yourself lucky for the taste…” Thomas growled hotly, opening his mouth wide and smacking it violently onto Alexander’s. He immediately felt the boy moan softly into his mouth, pulling on Thomas’s tie, begging him to come forth, come closer so he could press deeper. Thomas surged forward, seizing Alexander’s own tie at the base and curling it around his knuckles roughly, controlling him exactly like a leash. The two met in a violent clash of fire and ice, mayhem. 

“Oh God… Thomas…” Alexander breathed the words against his lips through the quick, hot licks in a half-whimper-half-moan as the Virginian kept his brutal grip on the tie, swinging his leg up onto the table and accidentally kicking the paper towel stand off. He sent it clanging loudly to the floor. But he didn’t hesitate for a beat, moving his large hands roughly down Alexander’s waist, twisting him so he fell from his hands and knees right to his ass, HARD. In one movement, he shoved him down to the table, Alexander grappled for something to hold on to on the way down, sending bottles of gatorade scattering and crashing to the ground. A random spoon followed. The chaos seemed to ignite both of them. 

“On your back, slut.” Thomas growled, swinging his leg over Alexander to straddle him, and the boy immediately grinded up, breath and belly fluttering against his white shirt. Thomas caught sight of his heavy breathing and seized his wrists, slamming them to the hard countertop and drawing a whine from the boy, and as soon as he had his wrists down with one hand, he raised the other and placed his thumb right between his ribs on his diaphragm, pressing deeply with that single large finger. 

The boy opened his mouth, fluttered his eyes closed, and let loose a shameful moan, squeezing his eyes shut at the uncomfortable pain and whipping his head back to slam on the table.  
“Fuck.” he spat the filthy word between gritted teeth, stomping a hostile foot behind Thomas. The man lifted the finger from the sensitive place and brought his hands forward to smack across Alexander’s mouth, sending his head snapping sideways to the cold marble countertop. 

“I don’t want to hear that language come out of your filthy mouth again.” He spat violently, pointing right up in his face with the hand that he’d slapped him with. Alexander let his head fall back into place, the red mark of four fingers fading into view across his raw cheek. He blinked his watery eyes that were brimming with fury, pressing his tongue against the inside of his cheek to try and regain the feeling in the numb, stinging area. 

“You mad about Laurens, is that it?” Alexander seethed, baring his teeth up at Thomas, who did the same back at him but FAR more aggressively.  
“I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”  
“Yes you do, driver-boy.” Alexander’s lip curled into a one-sided smirk as he found Thomas’s tie again, striking his hand out and yanking roughly so that Thomas’s face was an inch away from his own. Alexander devoured Thomas’s mouth again in a clash of hot tongues and saliva, and the Virginian up took the challenge, dominating over him in control. Alexander broke off with an obscene wet sound. 

“You don’t like it when I kiss him, do you?” he whispered and watched Thomas’s little expressions, the loathing burning and crackling in his raven eyes. He was pushing it again. He was slowly, slowly, closing his hand around Thomas’s throat without even laying a finger on him. And it felt powerful.  
“It torments you, Thomas. It…” he smirked, pressing his belly up against Thomas’s, “BURNS… you.” he finished with a whisper. 

The man didn’t move. He didn’t speak. And yet the burn in his eyes said everything that Alexander needed to know, clear as day.

“Why would it burn me, Alexander?” Thomas finally sneered slowly under his breath. His brows furrowed darkly, face falling into that dangerous place of quiet wrath. And then his attitude changed on a DIME, throwing Alexander off guard.  
“I don’t want you. I don’t care who you’re with.” All of a sudden, the man tossed Alexander’s wrists away, disgusted with himself. Alexander’s smile quickly faded, unexpecting of this. 

“I told you to stay away from me. So why don’t you go and do that.” Thomas sat up, brushing himself off as he slid off the counter to the floor with a firm head shake. Not a long way down for the tall man. Alexander, meanwhile, was utterly bemused at this sudden behavior. The man was so fucking erratic and inconsistend; there was no way to predict that he wouldn’t have just fucked Alexander right there on the kitchen counter. 

“Hey, man, what’s your fucking deal?” Alexander scoffed incredulously, sitting up on the table and scowling at Thomas, feeling robbed. They both looked like a wreck, especially Alexander. His hair was a disaster, his tie was undone at his throat and his collar was popped. Thomas didn’t look back, just curtly straightened the lapels of his suit and strode head-on towards his bedroom. 

“I don’t want to deal with you right now. Go to bed early; we’ve got training early in the morning.”  
“Where the hell are you going?” 

Thomas whirled around in the wide hallway, hand already on his bedroom door handle.  
“My fucking bedroom, that alright with you?” He actually YELLED, voice raised past his usual anger. He shook his head and spat something inaudible to Alexander before flinging the door open and slamming it behind him. The sheer power of the man’s fury reverberated through the house, the slam sounding so similar to a gunshot, it was uncanny. 

Alexander was dumbstruck. 

“Ay what about my fucking boxes?” Alexander called, arms up in outrage despite being out of sight. There was no response.  
Great. Fucking great; what the hell was he supposed to do now with all his shit? Alexander scoffed, completely and utterly bemused. He’d said it before and he’d say it again: that man was tricky. And it was up to him to figure it out. 

**

It was midnight when Alexander had finally got his basic bare necessities set up in his bedroom after the long haul; most of the boxes remained abandoned down on the first floor of the apartment, some were unpacked around the room. But Alexander was more than content with what he had up there now, and he lay in his new king bed with his satin sheets and huge black comforter messily around him, snacks scattered in and throughout. Both of his thigh-high bluetooth speakers were set up on either side of the bed, and he had finally got his Netflix account working too. Well--John’s Netflix account. 

Alexander scrolled through his Spotify playlist and ended up just clicking shuffle, and Sanguine Paradise by Lil Uzi came on. Perfection, Alexander thought with a mental chef’s-kiss as he tossed his phone to the sheets and popped open the ice cream container with the end of one of Thomas’s fancy metal spoons, all while nudging his laptop open with his toe. With an unnecessary amount of concentration, he somehow managed to actually type a letter ‘P’ in with his foot and send him straight to PornHub. Premium, of course. 

It was then when his phone lit up beside him in the comforter buzzing. Alex huffed, pulling down the hood of his CHAMPION sweatshirt--the only thing he was wearing--and leaned over to see the caller. He immediately pressed the answer icon. 

“Hey. Sup.” Alexander put it on speaker because his room was pretty loud at this point. PornHub plus Family Guy plus blasting music makes quite the racket, he found.  
“Hey. You using my account again?” John’s voice sounded, tinny on the little phone speaker.  
“Yup.” Alexander buried the spoon in the ice cream and scooped up an unmentionable amount of the stuff. 

“There a problem?” he huffed, bending forward stiffly on the memory foam to grope semi-blindly for his midnight-blue vibrator somewhere in the covers, coming across a couple Reese’s cups and an unopened Sprite bottle before he finally found what he was looking for.  
“Yeah, just wanted to make sure nobody was hacking my shit.”  
“No, that’s me.”  
“What’re you doing right now? Bit late to be up the night before your training starts.” Alexander licked ice cream off the spoon, sucking on it blissfully for a moment and popping it out of his mouth. He sighed contentedly. 

“Just eating junk, blasting Uzi, watching Family Guy and PornHub and masturbaing.”  
“Ahh…” John hummed knowingly as Alexander uncapped his lube, spreading the cool, slick substance over his top-notch vibrator.  
“What? Don’t judge me this is my first night of pure freedom in a year. I get a one-day pass to act like a fucking degenerate teenager.”  
“No, not that. I was saying that you didn’t go to bed with Jefferson?” 

Alexander paused, which was covered nicely by the beat drop of Sanguine Paradise in the background.  
“You mean like ‘fuck’ or actually GO to bed.”  
“Fuck, you idiot.”

Oh. Alexander paused again, spreading his legs and scooting back to rest against his abundant pillows. 

“Yeah we didn’t. Well, we got close but this guy--Laurens--you have no idea.”  
“Oh, I think I got a little bit of an idea today.” he laughed over the phone and then took a moment to think before he spoke his next words, “Okay, can I speak my mind?”  
“Yeah.”  
John cleared his throat barely, like he was trying to find a kind way to phrase this and completely failing miserably.  
“Okay the dude’s a complete asshole.” he gave up in defeat.  
Alexander barked out a short laugh, letting go of the vibrator inside him to take another go at the ice cream, “Exactly. But you don’t understand, he’s also inconsistent as the amount of bacon they give you at Subway; one moment I swear he’s going to fuck me to tears on the counter, the next he ditches me in a hospital parking lot.” 

“What?”  
“Long story--point is the dickead is dificult.”  
John sighed in defeat, “I have no idea what you’re trying to do with him, Alexander, and quite frankly I don’t want to know.”  
“Yeah...Good...” 

Alexander gave the answer distractedly as he thought he heard a door shut somewhere downstairs. Oh...shit. He went quiet, not moving but to peek around at the stairs and flick his wrist, pumping the vibrator lazily inside of him, clearly distracted. He obviously couldn’t see anything from this vantage point. 

“What’s up?”  
“I think…” Alexander spoe vaguely, straining his ears over the sheer amount of noise he was making. There was a clunk. And then another and another. His heart lurched in his chest. Oh shit.  
“Alex?”  
“Jefferson’s coming up the stairs, gotta go.”  
Laurens definitely cupped both hands over his mouth because his next words were muffled.  
“And you’re masturbating?”  
“Gotta go.”  
“Fucking God…” 

The tone sounded as Alexander tapped on the hang up button and sat back up, pulling his vibrator out and clicking the power button. His body prickled with a wave of heat, disappointed at the sudden halt. The kid didn’t turn off anything else though; even if he had time to, he wouldn’t have. Let Thomas find him like this; let him see what he’s missing out on punishing. 

Alexander leaned back in his pillows, trying to relax, but the sound of Thomas’s steps approaching him were still making his heart thump with thrilled fear in his chest. This would be interesting. 

Finally, with the loudest clunk yet, Thomas appeared at the top of the stairs. Hot. Damn. He was wearing nothing but black sweatpants. Alexander couldn’t see much in the dark, but he saw that V-line... and those pitch eyes flashed back at him, reflecting a scorching flame behind those irises. Alexander didn’t even glance up at him, just dug his spoon into the ice cream and yanked it out. 

“Yo.” he addressed, crossing his smooth legs and letting his big sweatshirt cover his hardness. Thomas just stood there staring. 

“What…” he seethed, trying not to pant with his fury, “Are you DOING?” he boomed. Alexander jumped a bit in the sheets, but it was a bit too dark for Thomas to notice. He brushed it off quickly and shrugged.  
“Just eating junk, blasting Uzi, watching Family Guy and PornHub.” he spoke casually, sticking the spoon in his mouth and holding it there as he paused his video on his laptop, not even closing the lid.  
“And what are YOU doing?” Alex inquired casually as if they’d just passed each other on the street and were making small talk. Thomas stood there shirtless, FUMING. 

“Turn that off right now.” he barked at Alexander like he'd finally come down to his last straw. The boy scowled at him irritably, stabbing his spoon in the ice cream.  
“Turn what off?”  
“All of it, goddamnit.”  
“Dude, what’s your pr--”  
“NOW, Hamilton.” he roared. Alexander slowly closed his mouth. His voice rang in both of their ears and echoed downstairs. Woah… Alexander realized; he was NOT playing around right now. There was going to be bloodshed. The boy screwed up his lips and stabbed his spoon angrily in the ice cream so it stuck, putting it aside to grab his phone and press pause on Spotify and on his virtual remote for the Netflix. When he was done, he tossed it down into the covers, the room now oddly silent. 

The boy crossed his arms poutily against his chest and swung his head to look at Thomas with a glare.  
“Yes?” he faked a friendly grin, obviously gritting his teeth. Thomas just shook his head slowly at a complete loss for words. He wanted to pulverize the little shit right then and there. But he had said no contact between them. He’d already broken that once today. 

“What is wrong with you?” he asked politely, tring to cool down his voice to Alexander’s level. The boy’s eyes were focused on something else on Thomas. GOD, that man in sweatpants… his testosterone was already jacked up and now… oh boy.  
“I’M trying to get some sleep before we’re on the training ground and YOU are up here BLARING obscene music and porn and whatever the hell this show is.”  
“Family Guy.  
“Shut up.” Thomas spat, cutting him off so he could continue, “Why are you doing this? You are acting like a GODDAMN teenager, and I’m sick of it; you wanna make an ass out of BOTH of us tomorrow? Is that what you want? Is this some sort of sick scheme to make me look like a fucking joke?”  
“You’re doing a good enough job yourself, buddy.” Alexander grumbled under his breath, biting at the string of his sweatshirt and chewing. Thomas paused. 

“WHAT did you say to me?”  
“Nothing.”  
The man took two strides towards the bed and struck his arm forward, grabbing the string of Alexander’s sweatshirt and yanking it right out of his mouth with a pop as it came free of his teeth.  
“Hey!” Alexander scoffed in disbelief. Where the hell did THAT come from?  
“Hello. Let’s get something straight, Alexander.” Thomas growled, slamming closed the lid of Alexander’s laptop near his feet, “When I tell you to shut the fuck up, you shut the fuck up. It’s not a suggestion. You do it.”  
“You can’t tell--”  
“ARE WE clear?”

There was another electricity-charged standoff between the two enemies, dark eyes flashing as they waited for someone to give in. Alexander’s face was scalding with heat as he lowered it, furiously giving in to the submission.  
“Yes sir.” he clipped between his clenched teeth.  
“Perfect. Now why are you doing this; what's your fucking deal?” Alexander just picked at the end of his string with a fingernail, twirling it. 

“Little taste of your own medicine.” he shrugged, still playing the little shit, “You treat me like shit: I treat you like shit.” he finally looked up at Thomas, still fiddling with the string, “Common sense. That’s how it’s gonna be until you come to your senses.”  
“Come to my senses.” Thomas drawled a snarl, “My ass. You treat me like shit, I’ll treat you like shit until you start behaving yourself, buddy.”

Finally, Alexander was done. He had to speak his mind on this one; he was sick of waiting and tired of being horny with nothing to release him whatsoever.  
“Yeah, well why should I?” Alexander retorted rudely, sitting up from his lounging position and furrowing his brows angrily. He scanned Thomas up and down in disgust, “You’ve given me all threats and zero consequences, so as far as I’m concerned, I can do whatever the hell I wan--ACK.” 

His voice was immediately cut off with a choking gasp, his hands shooting up to claw at the one that was curling around his soft throat. Alexander tried to look up, his hands giving up and clamping around Thomas’s wrists, and the man’s eyes were… black with lethal menace. 

“I don’t like. Your tone. Of voice.” He explained coolly, his temper completely under control now, snapping right back into place and into authority as soon as he held the power in the palm of his hand. Literally. 

Alexander tried to inch away, craning his neck and gasping desperately for air, but Thomas held him at his dispense, watching with pleasure as he struggled. And that was when Alexander’s sweatshirt hem came up just a little too much as he squirmed in desperation. And his rock-hard cock was revealed, throbbing and needy right there in the open. 

Thomas paused, lessening his grip just enough for Alexander to have air. But Thomas was too distracted to care about his gags and chokes, his eyes darting all over the bed until he saw the midnight-blue vibrator, just laying on top of the comforter. His breath hitched, and his head whirled back to Alexander. 

“Were you…?” he gaped eyes flickering from the boy’s cock to his face once more. Alexander twitched his eyebrows at Thomas, suddenly growing very serious. 

“Yes. I was. And guess what, I know you were too. I can smell the sweat on you; don’t even try to contradict me, bastard.” Alexander spat darkly when Thomas had opened his mouth to retort, tilting his chin up to look right into Thomas’s eyes. 

“This? This right here that we’re doing? It’s not sustainable, Jefferson.” Alexander squinted, shaking his head lightly within Thomas’s grasp. He went on.  
“Advancing and backing off. Teasing. Dancing around. It’s neeeeever going to last, and you KNOW it. You can FEEL it.” Alexander smirked, feeling the power surrender itself right back into his own hands.  
“Make all the rules you want; you’re going to crack like a chubby kid's tricycle as soon as you realize you can't handle this anymore.”  
“How dare you.” Thomas whispered, outraged at the offense. Alexander laughed. Just laughed, right there in his face. 

“Get some sleep; we have a big day tomorrow.” he smiled condescendingly and actually... DARED to pat Thomas's head.  
Thomas finally had his fill, lunging forward with a snarl of pent-up ferocity. Alexander rolled out of the way, propping his head up on his hand and smoothly checking his nails as he lay on his belly in the sheets. 

“Ooh...don’t crack now, Jefferson.” Alex smiled, “You said you wouldn’t.” 

There was nothing but heavy breathing as the two enemies stood each other off like animals waiting to strike. Time ticked by, the intensity stagnant in the air.  
Thomas was livid. He was FUMING. And not just because of the immense arrogance of the little rat. Not just because of the unbearable sexual frustration that was corked up inside of him and the lack of sleep while knowing the hard work that lay ahead. He was spilling with hatred because deep down, he knew that Alexander was absolutely and completely right. Every single word.  
It was only a matter of time before Thomas was going to crack; they could only dance this dance for so long. It was never, never going to last, despite all of Thomas’s begs that it could.


	10. The Hamilton Files

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get ready for a LONG one! And some--no--lot's of intensity! Stay safe all of you, and stay tuned for next chapter! ☺️💕

Thomas’s alarm went off at six A.M., startling him out of sleep.

“Fucking…” he mumbled, bleary-eyed, and groped blindly for his phone charging on the bedside table and found the cable. He reeled it to himself like a fishing wire and rolled back over onto his back with a stiff grunt, turning off the noise with a heavy hand. He let it fall back down to the bed, dropping his phone in the sheets and allowed his eyes flutter closed in the silence. He heaved a deep, heavy sigh and reluctantly invited the memories of the previous day to come seeping back in. 

Fuck. It all seemed like a twenty-four hour blur of Alexander’s insufferable asshole-ery.   
And then Thomas remembered. 

The man drew his hands to his face and rubbed deeply, breathing muffledly into his palms. That little shit was here, he reminded himself irritably. He was actually in Thomas’s apartment, probably sleeping casually. Two days ago Thomas would’ve never imagined that that little… RAT would weasel his way into his home, out of that psychopathic ward. And now, after a forty-eight hour blur of a shitshow, they had fucked, teased, and moved in together. He never would have conceived this. Never.

Thomas slapped his palms back down to the bed, blinking his eyes open to gaze at the domed ceiling, now depicting a partly cloudy sunrise, faded stars still just barely visible against the rosy sky. He had to get up now, or he never would, so he bent forward stiffly, huffing as he swung his legs out of bed and landed his feet on the carpeted floor. He stood with a grunt, rubbing his eyes as he sauntered to the bathroom, still trying to shake off his grogginess. He was usually an early waker but two nights in a row without enough sleep? It was wearing on him, and the little dilemma he had with the sexual frustration wasn’t helping. 

He pushed it from his mind as he showered, turning on some music in the steamy space instead or he’d get up in his head about it. Now wasn’t the time to be thinking about sex; that could be reserved for later today when he was having his guests over. It was time for work. 

Thomas wrapped his towel around his waist and used another to tousle up his dark, wet hair, drying it thoroughly on the way to his closet. Shit, he thought. It must have been weeks since he last got on his training uniform in preparation for a mission. He leafed through his countless outfits on hangers, wishing that he could put on a suit like usual. He let the fabric of a Kiton slip through his fingers as he moved on to the very end and halted. 

The training uniform was the same for everyone. A black, long sleeve, dri-fit shirt with matching pants--both with subtle, yet glinting and reflective, thin accents around the shoulder and wrists. The material was engineered specifically to allow maximum movement and breathability, and that it did. Thomas dressed himself back in front of his bathroom mirror, staring into his own dark eyes as he slowly zipped the front of his matching polyester fabric jacket, all the way up to his throat. 

When he was finished he paused. 

For a few moments, he just observed himself, staring unblinking into his own face. His heart skipped a beat when the stomach-lurching nausea of déjà vu hit him out of nowhere like a freight train. He swallowed, memory washing back over him from the day two years ago that he had first trained with Alexander. 

Thomas let loose a deep breath, trying to stuff the memory back under the rug where it belonged, but it was already out. He couldn’t help seeing his twenty-three year old face staring back at him. The first day he had stepped out onto the training field with that insufferable little seventeen-year-old and immediately took a liking to him. It seemed worlds away now, but Thomas could still remember it like a dream or a childhood film. How Alexander had been sitting on top of his car when he arrived down to the course, swinging his legs. 

“Hey. Who are you?” Thomas’s voice snapped with an edge of hostility towards anyone coming near his car. Not to mention he was expecting a shooter to be someone who wouldn’t be blown away by his own recoil. The boy just tossed his chin in the air, extending a gloved hand down to Thomas; that was his first sign that he was the sniper. The gloves. 

“Agent Alexander Hamilton, sniper at your service. Assuming you’re Jefferson?”

Thomas paused. He was immediately taken aback at the kid. Because, well…. A KID. Thomas took the hand skeptically and shook, surprised once again by the steady grip. From one handshake, there was so much that he could deduct. The precision, the coolness, the affinity and familiarity with power. Alexander smiled, showing for the first time his glittering jeweled teeth. They were basically straight, probably in the home stretch of their existence, but it only contributed to Thomas’s uncertainty. 

“Can see you’re skeptical.” the boy let go of his hand gracefully, letting his own fall back to his mag belt around his tiny waist.   
Thomas had a third chance to be baffled, “And what gives you that notion?” 

The boy grinned, seemingly pleased at the eloquence and obvious intelligence. He could see it in the man’s eyes; the smart ones were the fun ones.   
“I can read micro expressions.” he shrugged casually as if that remarkable skill was common as grass, “It’s okay, I get that reaction a lot.” 

Thomas licked his lips, clearing his throat with a small cough. The boy, however, was unfazed. He seemed to consider for a moment before coming towards Thomas with an offer. 

“Alright, how about this.” he sniffed, brushing aside the flap of his training jacket to pop open the clip on his holster. Thomas’s dark eyes darted over the boy, tracking his every move. The kid smiled, slowly producing a customized weapon from his hip. 

Looking in the mirror now, Thomas’s face fell, darkening. The weapon he had come to loathe from the darkest place in his heart. 

“Weapon of choice, Jefferson. Taran Tactical Glock 34 Gen 5 Carry Optics Combat Master Platinum Edition. Custom made for yours truly.” he winked charmingly, spinning it once around his finger to demonstrate its lightness. The gun had a small blue scope on the top and was a sleek platinum weapon with a black grip. 

“And?” Thomas had drawled, now leaning against the side of his car. Brand new out of the factory. A black Ferrari 458.  
“And,” Alexander picked up where Thomas had left off, popping loose an already filled magazine from his belt and shoving it into the magazine well with a clack. Thomas watched how smoothly the boy completed the actions, immediately knowing he could do it in his sleep. The kid cocked the slide into place with a sharp click, locked and loaded.

He turned his hazel eyes back down to Thomas.  
“Alright, name anything in the training course.” he opened his arms widely, gun in hand, “Preferably small and far away, if you please.” He grinned. Thomas blinked, confused. This was rather sudden. And an odd way to meet someone and introduce yourself. He already had the inexplicable inkling that this wasn’t just ‘someone’.

“You’re gonna shoot.”   
“That’s the idea, driver-boy.” He flashed his sparkling metal teeth.   
Thomas huffed a laugh through his nose, amused and particularly diverted. This one… this one was different. This one was intelligent; he was witty. Far too much wit for his own age. Thomas decided he would test that ego while he still could. 

“Alright.'' Thomas crossed his arms, agreeing warily to this little challenge and scanning briefly around the room, intrigued as to how this would end. He tossed his chin up at the raftered ceilings which were dangling and covered with different kinds of targets, all sizes for all purposes.   
“Far end. The metal pigeons.” The boy immediately shook his head.   
“You’re gonna have to do something harder than that.”  
“A little warm up, then. Just in case you fail.” 

The boy lifted his eyebrows, lips parting in an obviously interested smirk, “Oh, you think so?”  
Thomas shrugged and leaned deeply against the car with a smug look, “Perhaps.”   
Alexander LIKED this one.  
“As you wish, then.” Alex curled his fingers steadily around his gun and raised it, but not in the manner that any other agent would have. It was almost… lazy. Bored. He leaned back onto his hand on the roof of the car, lounging. 

Thomas watched as the kid barely even looked at the metal pigeons all the way across the vast space and fired, five shots “PANG!”-ing in the empty space that had been reserved for them for the day. One after the other, the gun recoiled and the sharp zinging of bullets on metal rang in the space. The targets went down in a neat little row and hung low. 

When the last echo bounced back… Thomas stood agape. Each target had been hit precisely in the eye and swung pitifully from the rafters. When he was done staring, Thomas turned his head, dumbfounded, to the boy who brought the gun close to his lips and blew the hot muzzle in a way that was somehow… provocative? He spun it once around his finger and moved to click it back in the holster, but Thomas was far too intrigued to allow that. 

“No, no, no, that was just a warmup.” he shook his head authoritatively. The boy paused, face slowly splitting into a smirk as he re-drew his gun.   
“That thumbtack. Up on the far wall.” Thomas flicked his ebony eyes to it, not even sure that it was a thumbtack at all, it was so far away, “I don’t know if you can see it.”

The boy just dipped his head with a small--almost patronizing-- laugh and a deep blink, “Yes. I can see it.”  
“Shoot it.” Thomas commanded, crossing his ankles. Alexander paused for a moment to twitch a brow. So, he thought. The man wasn’t just smart, he knew when he was in charge, too. 

“Sure.” Alexander shrugged, still leaning back on the palm of his hand. He raised the gun, slower this time, but the way his hand was so abnormally steady…  
With a flashing BANG the gun recoiled in his hand, and the bullet hit the far wall. Thomas just scoffed playfully. 

“And how do I know that you hit--”   
Alexander had lifted his other hand, however, the tip of his tongue concentratedly between his teeth and hazel eyes turned upwards when he jerked it backward and closed it on something. And then Thomas got it. 

Wait… no. 

For a moment, Thomas thought he was bluffing. That was impossible, physically impossible. Some Matrix type shit that only happened in glorified films. But the kid smiled, opening his palm and tossed something up once that glinted in the air. 

“Thumbtack.” he spoke simply, popping it with his thumb like a coin to Thomas who caught it with lightning reflexes. Not a chance, he denied. But sure enough, when the man opened his hand a slightly charred red thumbtack that had been grazed by Alex’s bullet rested in his palm, rolling back and forth. His lips parted in absolute disbelief. Alexander just smirked smugly.

Thomas looked from it to Alexander, dumbstruck, and his lips sputtered, only finding three words he was able to say 

“Who are you?” he inquired with entranced wonder. Who… WAS this kid. Where had he come from? The boy laughed, tossing his long hair away and sitting upright to once again take Thomas's hand.   
“Agent Hamilton.” his eyes glittered mischievously, “But you can call me whatever you want, because I have this odd feeling that we’re gonna be partners.” 

Thomas shook his head in wonder, heart thudding in his chest at this intriguing acquaintance as he slowly took his hand. This was going to be the beginning of something dangerous, he knew. Right from the start. What kind of danger, however, he had no clue. 

“The feeling is mutual, Allie.” he sniffed, tossing his chin arrogantly. The boy copied him, doing just the same.   
“Good choice.”  
“Thought so.” he smirked, dark eyes glinting. 

As soon as the moment had passed, Thomas lowered his eyes from the mirror in disgust, biting his lip. He shook his head firmly to clear away the wisps of memories still floating around his head of their first impression. They weren’t the same kids they were back then. Nothing could ever be as simple. And that was Alexander’s doing, not his. Alexander and Alexander’s alone. 

Great. Now he was fucking mad again. 

Thomas smoothed his hair back and grabbed his phone off his bed before leaving his room and tucking it into his pocket.   
The apartment was quiet and already bright now that it was spring and even the virtual sun was rising early. The DC skyline was clear this morning, a few scattered clouds dappling patches of shade onto the city as they slowly drifted by. The silence that Thomas would usually welcome made his brows furrow. Where was Alexander? 

Thomas opened the fridge with a sniff, pushing aside whatever the hell kind of junk Alexander had bought and an unwarranted amount of gatorade to finally find a simple protein shake and a fucking banana. Alexander had basically taken over the entire fridge, and Thomas made a mental note to make the ass-hat buy his own for upstairs if he wanted to be a pig. 

He skirted around the island, which was the kitchen counter, and walked instead to his living room to sit down, scrolling through his phone as he ate. Damn, if Alexander could always be this quiet, the world would be a better place. A text message from "Brooks" interrupted his browsing. Thomas squinted, who the fuck was Brooks? 

“Heyy Tommy. Still up for tonight?”   
“Nico and Sammy are still down, you just say the word.” 

Ah, Thomas remembered. His guests. His thumbs taped on the screen. 

“Be here at 12 P.M. lunch break. I’ll send you three the permission to get into HQ.” he replied shortly, knowing that he could treat them as curtly as he wanted and they’d still kiss the ground at his feet. When he swiped out of the iMessage tab, his eyes widened. Thirty minutes to get down to the training course and Alexander was nowhere to be fucking seen. 

Thomas cursed under his breath, standing with an annoyed huff and threw out his garbage. He didn’t bother getting anything for Alexander; the kid could suck it up and get off his ass if he wanted to eat something. Thomas tucked his phone back into his pocket as he climbed the stairs. The loft was still dark, signaling that his suspicions were valid, and when he finally scaled the last step, he stopped at the top, blinking against the sudden darkness. 

“Fucking little…” he cursed under his breath, waving his hand over the circular no-touch switch. The lights came on all at the same time, all at full blast. There was an immediate groan from somewhere deep in the black comforter.

Thomas scanned the room. It was an absolute fucking train wreck. Snacks that weren’t unopened in the bed were on the floor. Boxes were strewn in random stacks, and the laptop and headphones were just sitting in the bed. Alexander was laying on his stomach, hair all about him with his phone still in his hand. Part of his smooth leg was peeking out so that Thomas could see he was still only wearing his sweatshirt.

“Hey. Hey.” Thomas snapped, blinking the lights on and off annoyingly. Alex groaned again, flopping a hand out from under him to grab a pillow, clawing it towards him. He shoved it over his head and didn’t move. 

“It’s seven-thirty you little shit, get the fuck up.”   
There was just a heavy sigh from between the pillows.   
“For fuck’s sake…” Thomas rolled his eyes, picking up Alexander’s sweatpants from the floor, balling them up, and slinging them at his head as hard as he fucking could. They collided with the pillow with a whipping BAP!

Alexander jumped, jolted awake, and threw the pillow aside.   
“What the fuck man?” he slurred, struggling to pull himself up from the bed. His hair was a tumbleweed. 

“‘What the fuck’-- You’re asking ME ‘what the fuck’?” Thomas opened his arms with an incredulous laugh.   
“Get up, get dressed you useless sack of shit. You’re a goddamn trainwreck, God look at you.” he sneered, for some reason feeling like being so much more of an ass on the guy than was called for. Maybe it was his little déjà vu incident making him bitter, but he wanted to go hard on him. 

“Thomas, do the world a favor and shut up.” The kid scoffed back indignantly. He sat up in bed and brushed his hair out of his contemptuous face.   
“You gotta understand that there’s a difference between the kind of rich that you are and the kind of right that I am, okay wise guy?” Alexander tossed the covers aside, shamelessly revealing his smooth legs and pretty cock. Thomas blinked, Adam's apple bouncing as he swallowed and tried to look away discreetly. 

Alexander shot Thomas a sharp glare, “You’re the rich where you get to have nice things; I’M so rich I get to do whatever the hell I want.”  
“Not in my damn house, you don’t, wise-ass.” he pointed at him aggressively, “Get up. Now. You wanna be smart with me, try it another time and see what fucking happens.” He called over his shoulder as he began to descend the stairs again.  
“Sign me the fuck up, Jefferson.” Alexander called right back, flashing him a middle finger that he didn’t see. 

“Assole…” Alexander grumbled, turning over and flopping back down to the bed, to go back to sleep. 

**

“Ahh, Tomá, good morning mon frere.” Lafayette purred loudly, opening his arms as Thomas approached.   
“Bonjour.” Thomas responded, spirits already lifted slightly by the mood of the Frenchman. Thomas was walking out on the long trek to the middle of the training course, one of the most impressive feats of Headquarters. It was, of course, underground, and it was the largest open area in the entire complex. The ground was dusty pavement and the whole place was framed by a figure eight racetrack, The ground had countless grey shooting dummies of all shapes and sizes that could be moved for drills. Even the ones up on the ceilings and walls could be altered with a control panel. Other obstacles lay around as well for the drivers to work with. They could be set up on the track, or set up to pop up at random times, giving a sense of unpredictability. 

To the left of the open area was the shooting range for trying new weapons and stagnant shooting from which gunshots rang right now, and to the right was the armory. Looking down through a bulletproof glass window was the gym that Thomas so often visited, and across on the other side was a glass viewing area for those who wished to observe training. 

The soles of his shoes crunched on a gravelly part of the ground as he finally made it to the middle of the arena where Lafayette stood beside his cheapest car in his collection, the Audi R8. His precious Nightcrawler was reserved for the real field and for instances of flaunting it. He would never bring his beautiful out for practice; she was made for missions.

The Frenchman was wearing a similar outfit to theirs but with a different jacket. And a metal whistle hung around his neck and rested on his flat belly. The guy was attractive, Thomas would give him that, but not his type. Thomas Jefferson could basically sniff our submissives, and this man was a top. Not a DOM, per se, but he was a top for sure. And Thomas’s type had always ranged 18-20, so another twenty-four year old wouldn’t work for him. Even if this one was a strapping blonde Frenchman who could probably suck a volleyball through a garden hose. 

Lafayette tossed Thomas the keys to his sports car and smiled with perfect teeth.   
“And where is our Xandér?”  
Thomas huffed a fond sigh, shaking his trainer’s hand, “That is the question of the day, isn’t it?” he growled, pulling on his gloves. Lafayette paused, pulling back to look in Thomas’s eyes.   
“Do not tell me the boy is still asleep.” he furrowed his eyebrows. Thomas just stared at him with eyes that absolutely said, “I’m not gonna say it, but yes the fuck he is.” 

“Très bien. Start up your vehicle and fifteen laps to warm up. The boy does ten pushups for each minute he is late.” Lafayette slapped the roof of the car as Thomas rounded it, a little sniff of deep satisfaction at the thought of doing laps while Alexander struggled to do pushups for Lafayette. Karma’s a bitch, isn’t it, Alexander? He thought snootily. 

Thomas swung into his car, and twirled the keys once on his pointer finger before sticking them in the ignition. But just as he was about to turn them, his head turned instead. 

Sauntering out across the arena…

Thomas’s breath caught in his throat, and he coughed.   
Alexander, full uniform, was swaggering up to Lafayette with that cocky little chin in the air, hair fluttering at his ears. And Thomas was sent right back again, right back to their first day meeting. 

The boy’s pretty figure was obvious in the outfit, and his heavy mag belt hung around his tiny waist right on his hip bones, loaded with magazine after magazine. Thomas craned surreptitiously from the car to see the grip of his famed, storied gun peeking out of the holster. A shot of adrenaline spurted through his chest at the sight. The legendary weapon of death.

His hand tightened around the wheel as he bitterly remembered the last time he had seen that gun...

And swinging on his back as well was his sniper rifle, a Blaser R93 Tactical that he always used when they weren’t in action: laying on top of buildings or on high ground. His little hands were in those custom made seamless gloves, even now when he didn’t need that kind of privacy. He talked to Lafayette, who was already scolding him. Thomas huffed a light laugh, but out of nowhere, Alexander caught his eye through the window of the Audi.

“Shit…” Thomas breathed, turning the key in the ignition before he could see Alexander’s little smirk. 

The car revved up with a wail, kicking up some dust as Thomas swerved neatly onto the track. It was almost impossible not to laugh watching Alexander do pushups with those pitiful arms, Lafayette’s foot on his back. 

Fifteen laps later, Alexander heaved for breath and opened the car door to weakly climb in.   
Thomas was snickering to himself the whole time, trying to choose between so many insults that he had in mind. 

“So. How’s that extra sleep feeling for you now?”  
“Shut up.” The boy spat, bending his head forward to gather his already-sweaty hair into a ponytail.   
“Got a hairband?”   
“Do I look like I’d have a hairband?” 

Alex groped at his wrist, “Nevermind, got one.” he grumbled, twisting it around his gorgeous locks and finally tossing it out of the way. For the third time that day, Thomas had to look away from the kid; he’d never admit it but DAMN was he pretty. 

Lafayette came up to the side of the car, leaning his arms on the roof to look down through Alexander’s window. 

“Warm up your shooting hand Xandér, and then we start.”  
“Which one?” Alex scoffed a friendly laugh, shooting a glimmering look up to his friend. Lafayette tapped his own right hand. 

“Your drive-by hand. I let you choose a target, but get five shots out and then we stop and I will tell the plan I have for you boys today. Sonne bien?”   
“Um... Oui.” Alexander responded, literally not knowing a tad of French. He licked his lips, squinting around the arena. 

But something about his attitude shifted in that moment, his gloved finger tapping on his knee. Thomas’s eyes flickered between it to his face. He knew that look.   
What was he up to…?   
All of a sudden, his eyes lit up. And his lips curled into a devilish smirk. 

“Those five pigeons up in the rafters. Let me give them a go.” he drawled mischievously, hand floating delicately to his gun.   
“For old time’s sake.” he purred, flashing a glance across at Thomas. The man shook his head so slowly. He would never back down, would he? He would never give up the opportunity to torment Thomas in the only way he knew how: the past. 

“Très bien.” Lafayette nodded with a frown, looking to Thomas not, “Tomá, you know the tactic, always drive so the sniper faces the target. If he misses, tight turn and loop back. We go until he finishes.” 

Alexander sniffed a short little huff, bumping a mag into his Taran Tactical with a clack.  
“I wouldn’t worry about that, but thank you for the offer.” he snorted arrogantly, earning him a raised eyebrow from Lafayette. Alexander pretended not to notice and released the catch, cocking his gun. He looked up and paused, hazel eyes darting between Thomas and Lafayette. 

“Waiting for the grass to grow?” he snapped. Thomas rolled his eyes.   
“For Christ's sake…” he grumbled under his breath, shifting into reverse with an aggressive jerk and grabbing the back of Alexander’s seat to twist around. They glided backwards smoothly, everything calm for a few moments. 

Alex just hummed something, twirling his gun slowly in his hand. He tilted his head slightly to gaze at the weapon, a warmth in his eyes that could only be described as a… sick sort of love. And it was making Thomas uneasy with what he wouldn't admit to himself was fear. 

“I missed this, Thomas.” He sighed, curling his fingers around the custom grip and laying the thing in his lap, “When I was in that chair.” When there was no response but wheels on dusty pavement, he tried again, “Don’t you?”  
“Alright, you’re being a real smartass with me today, so cut the crap.” He sneered, “Sick of your bullshit.”

“Ooh, moody.” Alexander raised both eyebrows, looking out the window, “Not enough sleep?”   
“Didn’t I just say shut your hole? Shut your hole.”   
“You did. I just don’t care.”

Thomas let go of his seat, twisting back to normal position with parted lips. Alexander could sense that he had put a toe across the line, pushing Thomas to the last nerve, JUST a little too far. The man’s face darkened, lips screwed up as he shook his head.   
“Watch your mouth with me.” he drawled slowly, wrapping his gloved hand around the leather wheel. Alexander shrugged coyly and looked back out the front window. He was in the mood for some hell-raising today. 

“Yes sir.” he breathed, moving his gun to his right hand and slowly draping it out the window, ready to shoot. Thomas shifted the car back into forward, flicking his shades quietly over his eyes. Alexander peeked a sideways glance over at Thomas. He could see the faint outline of his abs even through the shirt as he leaned back in his seat. And this time, on hearing himself being addressed properly, Thomas didn’t retaliate. Instead, he just settled his glasses on his face and let his hand rest on the wheel collectedly. 

“Good boy.” he nodded coolly, revving the engine of the sexy car. Alexander grinned at himself in the rearview mirror as they kicked forward with a jolt, bolting. Thomas was finally letting Alexander play with him. About time, the boy thought. About time. 

They screamed towards the far side of the arena, and Thomas jerked the wheel to the left, exposing Alexander’s side to the targets right on time with a screeching of wheels on pavement. Alex assumed position and raised his gun, banging shots rang one after the other in a rapid round of bullets as the wheels drifted. Lafayette stood and watched in wonder as five shots zinged off metal. And five targets were gunned down right in a row. The R8 streaked smoothly onto the track, looping around to come to a slower stop. Alexander glanced across at Thomas, blowing the steam from the muzzle with a look of malice in his hazel eyes.

“This is gonna be so much fun.” he breathed in relish. Thomas sniffed indifferently, but if anyone could pick up on his tiny tugging smirk, it was Alexander ‘Eight Shot’ Hamilton. 

**

George Washington sat with classy leisure before the wide, bulletproof window. He leaned against the side of the couch and crossed his legs, just gazing down onto the dazzlingly lit training arena. The viewing room was dim like a movie theatre, and the man sat in the dark, observing with concentrated rapture. His lips rested on his knuckles as his blue eyes followed the movements of the two agents. 

A voice sounded behind him, and he jumped.

“George. I was looking for you.”   
He started, swiveling his head to identify the speaker. 

“Ah, James, my dear.” he smiled softly, watching the smaller man approach down the steps after clicking closed the door to the observation box.   
“I was just taking a look at our reacquainted pair.” he explained, leaning back into his previous position as James rounded the couch, taking a seat next to him. The man unbuttoned the front of his suit and gazed down onto the arena as well, regarding the activities. Lafayette had them doing a drill with Thomas weaving through tightly placed dummies, turning with impossible precision so that Alexander had a clear shot at each one’s head. 

James fell into the same sort of trance George had when he watched them.   
“Do you think they’re getting along?” James asked curiously. There was a long pause in the dim room before George responded. 

He took a deep inhale and recrossed his legs. 

“It’s hard to say.” George confessed, watching the two step out of the car and converse all the way towards their water bottles.   
“I believe that for them it is far more complex than ‘getting along’ or not.”  
“Yes.” James whispered, nodding deeply. The boys finished their water break and Lafayette held his clip board, explaining the next drill. They stood far apart from each other, not looking at one another even though they had just been talking. 

“That would make perfect sense. Their situation is complex.”  
“Indeed.” George sighed, taking the first step and laying his arm gently across James’s shoulders. The smaller man held down a bashful smile and leaned into it; he was worried that if he did the same George might think it not wise to do in public. 

James squinted, watching his best friend swing seamlessly from reverse to forward in the same direction, screeching to a halt to let Alexander hop out and post his sniper rifle across the hood, gunning down targets over one-hundred feet away. The faint ‘bap’ of the bullets could be barely heard up in the room, Alexander's squeezed shut eye not even flinching with each shot, one eye in the scope. James saw how Thomas was watching him, no discernable emotion on his face. James looked away and sighed. 

“Do you think Thomas will ever forgive?” he asked, and regretted it as soon as he had spoken. He licked his lips, swallowing. That was too personal concerning Thomas, far too personal and much too sudden a question. Good God why had he said it? George’s head turned down to him, frowning, and James tried not to cringe at himself.

“Forgive Agent Hamilton?”  
“For…” James sputtered, trying to recover himself. He closed his eyes, “For murdering Agent Randolph Emerson.” 

George stiffened. James felt like he had to go on; he was already in too far to climb back out.   
“He doesn’t show it; he never will. But I fear the connection he had to that boy--Randolph, that is--only contributes to a bitter hatred towards Hamilton.” James spilled out, the words trailing more words and flowing without a dam to stop them.

“He still MISSES Randolph, George. It’s unhealthy.” he wrung his hands in his lap, staring down at them, “And Hamilton… he is far from healthy himself--”  
“James.”   
George interrupted him squeezing his shoulder and looking down into his eyes. They were troubled, clearly. 

“You fear for your friend, which is honorable to say the least.” he emphasized, gently tilting James’s face up with his finger when the man wasn’t meeting his eyes. James blinked up now, distraught.   
“I just… worry about them as a pair.” he finally explained, exhaling a shaky breath. There. He had finally said it. George just regarded him calmly, taking a few moments to observe those green eyes. The man nodded slowly.

“I understand your concerns.” he validated, stroking the pad of his thumb gently over James’s cheek like he was fragile.   
“But I also believe that these two men will find some way to reach a peace, whatever that may be.”

“But he’s a boy, George.” James contradicted, troubled eyes darting all over his face, “He’s just a boy.” But George was already shaking his head with a grave look of… something very dark on his face. James’s heart accelerated nervously in his chest, uneasy all of a sudden. 

He had never seen a look like that on George’s face… never. 

“Randolph was a boy.” George spoke bitterly, and as soon as the words were out, the moment had passed over as if just a breath of smoke in the wind. James was still shaken from that flash of darkness.   
“They are… were the same age.” James corrected himself.

“Yes. They were.” George recovered, rubbing James’s shoulder up and down comfortingly with a light smile, “But Alexander… he murdered his first man when he was thirteen years old. He hasn’t been a child since.” 

“Yes, I know…” James trailed off, not wanting to think about the horrible idea of that child picking up the gun and shooting his father right in the eye. James had watched the replay of the old, old trial; it was part of his job as the FBI warden. And he would never forget how as soon as he had been released, free of all charges from the trial, he had walked down the courtroom steps and SMILED into the hidden security camera. 

James shivered now at the thought, pressing a bit closer to George as the chills ran down his spine. He remembered that smile burned into the front of his mind. A thirteen-year-old grinning up with jeweled teeth at a camera with a look that said, “and I’d do it again, bastards”.   
But that was so long ago, so far in the past that it hardly mattered anymore. It didn't matter anymore. Now was a whole different world.

“James, look at me.” George, lifted his chin once more that had begun to fall, and James made himself gaze up. George’s eyes were soft and blue, easy to get lost in. 

“They are going to find a way.” he whispered, putting emphasis on every word so that Jams could fully believe it was true. George smiled, gazing down into the eyes that he loved.   
“Come here.” he grumbled deeply, tilting Jame’s head up gently for a sweet, closed-mouth kiss. James complied contently and sighed against George’s face, trying to let the stress blow off him as he pressed against those warm, soft lips. 

The Director removed the hand beneath James’s chin and drifted it slowly down to his boyfriend’s belly, feeling the smaller one try not to gasp at the touch. He smiled against James’s lips and brushed his fingers over his clothed belly, pushing his suit lapels aside. And they stayed like that for a long time, trying to forget the troubles that lay ahead, yes, and the troubles that lay in the past. 

But in the back of his mind, James could not seem to shake off the dark expression that had passed in his lover’s eyes… and the foreboding place from which it had come from. 

**

“Ahhh, damn, a shower is much needed.” Alexander sighed highly, tossing his water bottle and jacket onto Thomas’s couch and throwing himself down too. Thomas followed behind him, unzipping his jacket.   
“Then don’t sit your sweaty ass on my furniture.”  
“I was talking. About you.” Alexander squinted irritably at Thomas as he placed his feet up on the coffee table. Thomas stopped at the kitchen counter, shooting Alex a razor-sharp glare.   
“I do not.”  
“Do too.”   
“I don’t sweat. Deal with it.” Thomas grumbled, standing in front of the open fridge and searching for something he’d want to eat. He could go for a twelve ounce steak but there wasn’t time for that. Sandwich would do. Alexander ducked out of his sniper riffle and laid back, hands behind his head as he watched Thomas shuffle around in the fridge, gathering ingredients and pushing aside the boy’s crinkly bags of Lay’s. 

“Whatcha making?” Alexander inquired, feeling his own hunger settling in when he smelled what was definitely some high quality ham.   
“Sandwich.” Thomas grunted, trying to ignore him as much as possible.   
“Ah. Make me one.” Alex requested, leaning back again and unbuckling his mag belt from his waist. Thomas didn’t even pause. 

“Didn’t hear a ‘please’ anywhere in there.”   
Alex just laughed, stripping off his gloves and setting them with his things, “Okay, please.” he mocked Thomas’s deep voice. The man smirked over his shoulder.   
“No.” And returned back to his task. 

“Wow. Wow.” Alex nodded, lips pursed. Thomas just chuckled inaudibly to himself as the kid reached up and dragged the hair tie down his ponytail, letting it fall to almost brush his shoulders once again. He shook it like a lion’s mane and leaned back with a huff, relaxing for a few minutes. 

“Well, well, well.” he started to speak after a time of silence, tucking his hair coyly behind his ear, and Thomas immediately detected that suggestive little tone in his voice. He stiffened with wariness, KNOWING that Alexander was looking for some trouble. 

“We have all of this lovely time before the second half of our day.” he gestured widely with his arms, lowering them seductively across the back of the couch. Thomas was at the cutting board on the island now, and just glanced up at him with an unimpressed glower as the boy kicked off his shoes and slowly rolled his hips forward a bit as if he were getting comfortable, but they both knew what he was really showing off. 

“I wonder what on earth we could do with all of it.” he smirked dirtily, twitching a provocative brow at Thomas acoss the living room. The man just twitched one right back, leaning his elbows on the table and staring at Alexander while taking a bite of his sandwich. He should probably have chosen a more fitting snack like popcorn, because this was going to be interesting. 

Alexander bit his lip, doing that thing with his hips again, “I mean, I have a few ideas.” he shrugged, looking across to Thomas, “But I bet you have some better ones.” he bit his lip again and let it slip out from between his teeth the way he had slowly calculated had the most effect on Thomas through trial and error. But the man was definitely holding his ground strongly today; where he would usually be phased by this kind of behavior, now he just squinted at Alexander and chewed his lunch casually. 

“I have plenty of ideas, Allie.” he nodded, all control in those dark eyes, “But I want to hear yours.”  
Alexander paused, lips falling open and eyes widening in excitement. For a moment he couldn’t really speak. 

“Really?” he laughed incredulously, “I mean, shit, Thomas. Wow.” he blinked, still not believing this was happening. He stood from the couch as if he didn’t really know what to do now that he had finally attained results, a little lost-looking. But Thomas raised a brow, lifting his head just the slightest increment to bear down on Alexander. 

“Sit.” he spoke very slowly, his voice as clear as a bell in the room. Alexander locked eyes with him, slowly lowering himself back down to the couch. Thomas laughed through his nose.   
“Tell me.” 

Alex tucked his hair behind his ear again, jittery with adrenaline already. He was kind of lying when he said he had tons of ideas, because now he couldn’t choose; he hadn’t been expecting to get this far. The ideas raced through his head, but only one was clear to him.   
“I really wanna... play with your toys.” he tucked the other side of his hair behind his ear, looking back up to Thomas. 

“Do you?” the man just kept eating like they were discussing current events nonchalantly.   
“Yeah.” Alexander leaned back into the couch, already beginning to feel the excitement course through his lower belly at the look in Thomas’s eyes. He looked so powerful, so collected and ready to torture him methodically like a real professional and it was turning Alexander the fuck on. And quickly. Shit. 

“Think you could handle it?” Thomas picked at a tooth absently, finished with his meal and opened a cabinet. There was some clinking as he took down a cup and filled it at the sink . This was going far better than the sniper ever would have imagined. Wow. And Thomas was so casual.   
“Think you can handle me?” Alex countered smoothly, crossing his arms cooly across his chest and raising an eyebrow, “Even tied up I’m trouble. If you want a pretty little lamb sub you should look somewhere else.” 

Thomas took a sip of his water and just kept… SQUINTING at him, leaned back against the counter near the fridge and slowly set it down on the counter, crossing his arms too. He didn’t say anything, a smug look of triumph already painted on his austerely beautiful face. It was at that point that Alexander began to sniff something out of the ordinary in his mood, slowly growing suspicious. He knew that Thomas’s temper was only this cool when he was in complete power… Was he in power now? 

Alexander pressed on nevertheless.   
“If you're worried about a kink shortage… how should I put this?” Alexander laughed, “Don’t.” he decided. Thomas inhaled deeply uncrossing his arms. 

“Not worried.” his lips twitched a smirk, “Today I have a special sort of punishment for you, Alexander.”   
“Is that so?” 

“Shh…” Thomas slowly raised his hand and pressed a single finger to his lips. And GOD, Alexander was done-for. He was chomping at the bit now; he was kneeling at the starting line and desperate to bolt headlong into the race. Thomas lowered his hand and placed it to his side on the table behind him that he was leaning on. 

“I can confidently assume that you are a slut for humiliation.”   
“Oh God…” Alexander couldn’t help the little whimper-like phrase from slipping between his lips. He bit them, hard, as soon as he had slipped up, cheeks flushing red. How had Thomas known so precisely; it seemed impossible. And it caught him completely off guard too, causing the release of that embarrassing sound. 

He gingerly raised his eyes to Thomas’s, who had cocked an eyebrow in warning.   
“Yeah. I like humiliation.” he coughed, shifting on the couch, “A lot.” he clarified, placing his hands in his lap.   
“And you like orgasms?” Thomas drawled, pulling out his phone that had just buzzed in his pocket.   
“Well who the fuck doesn’t?”   
His head snapped up from the screen, slicing into Alexander. A beat of silence followed before the prickling man let his hair lay flat again. 

“I’m going to let that disgusting disrespect slide this time, because your payback for being such a dick with Laurens just arrived.” 

Alexander’s entire groove skittered to a crashing halt and shattered. He made a face, brows swooping down.   
“Huh?” he sputtered, completely lost. Thomas just uncrossed his arms and stood up straight. 

“You think you can act like that in front of me, and I’ll just,” he waved a hand in the air with a frown, “Let you.”

Alex’s heart was beginning to thud in his chest, and he scowled over at his partner.   
“What the hell are you talking about?” he scoffed, gesturing openly with his hands and shaking his head in utter bewilderment. Thomas barked out a laugh that rang in the room and ended with a fond sigh. 

“You really are fucking naive, Hamilton.” He smiled, “We made a little deal not to screw with each other, ring a bell?”  
“YOU made that deal.” Alexander stood from his spot, opening his mouth again to spit something obnoxious, but Thomas interrupted him.   
“And I’m following it.” He retorted, shaking his head slowly, “I’ll punish you for being a shameful little brat. But I’ll do it without ever laying a finger on you.” 

Before he had even finished the sentence, the door had clicked open and there were a few sets of footsteps clunking around the entrance. Alexander, still in utter outraged shock, whipped his head to the side to try and figure out what was going on. 

“Tommy? Can we come in?” A male voice called politely. Thomas tilted his chin in the air.   
“Come in, boys.” he replied, all eyes on Alexander as he watched the activity at the door, mouth slowly falling open in shock. Thomas smirked. 

Three boys in polo shirts and bowties, slipped off their shoes politely. Alex’s eyes widened in complete disbelief. Thomas really WASN’T bluffing when he talked about guests coming over. But now he was using these guests as a means of punishment to Alex. Had he improvised that on the spot? 

When they were finished, they padded across the floor towards the kitchen and stopped at a single look from Thomas. Alex sat motionless and tried to comprehend the soap-opera type shit he was witnessing in front of him. This wasn’t even real, was it? Was this some kind of sick joke?   
Two of the boys were identical and obviously twins. They had wavy dark hair and blue eyes, and they looked a bit older than Alexander but, hell, only by a hair. The third was blonde with dimples, grinning up at Thomas. 

“Boys, that over there is my new roommate, Alexander.” Thomas grumbled nodding in Alex’s direction as he sat, humiliated on the couch. “Alexander, this is Brooks, Sammy, and Miko.”  
“Nico.”  
“Whatever.”  
The three looked over at him and all grew a bit more enthusiastic if that was possible. One of the brunettes ran a hand through his hair, casting Alexander a bit of a hungry look.  
“Damn. Is he…”  
“Joining us?” Thomas finished the sentence, all three nodding expectantly. It was Thomas’s turn to lock eyes with Alexander, lips twitching into a smirk as he watched the boy SEETHE. 

“No.” Thomas spoke simply, blinking down on him, “He is going to go to his room. And wait.” He drew out a long pause just a TAD long enough to be humiliating.   
“Aren’t you, Alexander?” he flicked his eyebrows. Any other boy would have backed down, stormed out of the room mumbling curses under their breath. But this was Alexander Hamilton.

“No.”

The little group in the kitchen flinched. Thomas’s stony expression did not change in the slightest.   
“No?” he repeated. Alexander crossed his arms and stared, not making a sound. They waited in the awkward silence for what felt like three minutes. Thomas breathed a deep inhale. Fine. He'd play it his way.   
“Alright. Boy’s, go wait in my room.”   
“Not the den?”  
“Did I SAY the den?” Thomas sneered lightly, much gentler than he did at Alexander, and yet the boys started unbuttoning their shirt collars with a muffled chorus of ‘yes sir’-s and padded down the hall towards Thomas’s bedroom. When the door finally swung closed, it was just Thomas and Alexander, staring off in the main area once again, alone. 

The older blinked lazily, “Alexander, I believe I asked you to go to your room.”  
“Yeah, well I believe I asked you to go fuck yourself.”

“That’s your job right now, baby boy.” Thomas laughed cruelly, “We’ve got another hour and a half before we go back down to the training gym. I’m sure you can give that little vibrator of yours a go.” he turned and started to walk down the hall, “Can’t believe you still masturbate, man. Kinda sad.”   
“You’re despicable.” Alexander spat, voice brimming with raw hatred, “What the hell is this man? Who the fuck are they? Are those what you call friends?"

Thomas turned around and walked backwards, shooting him a little wink before stepping into his bedroom.   
“Get what you give, Hamilton.”  
“This can’t last forever, asshole! YOU know it.” Alex called, but the door had already slammed shut, leaving Alexander alone in the living room to gape at nothing. What. Had just. Happened. This didn’t seem real. This was another LEVEL of revenge; this was fucking ludicrous--preposterous. Thomas actually just went THAT far just to make Alexander burn. 

Alex scratched the back of his head, trying to figure out what the hell to do now. He couldn’t GO anywhere; there wasn’t enough time. Instead, he just slapped his hand over his phone and cused unspeakable things about the driver under his breath, thumping up the stairs to his bedroom.

**

“Alex? What the hell, I’m on my lunch break, you douche.”  
“I know. I know but you gotta hear this, man.” Alexander could hear the chatter and loud buzz of the HUB through the other end of the line followed by a drawn-out sigh.   
“Seriously? I swear, if this is another attempt at Despacito on your motherfucking recorder--”   
“No, no, stop, fuck, that was a phase. Just--” 

Alexander pursed his lips and punched John onto speakerphone, holding him out so he could hear loud and clear what Alexander had been dealing with for the past forty-five minutes. There was what sounded like a knee bumping on a tabe and some scuffling. 

“John?”  
“For fuck’s sake, Alex, I had you on speaker phone outside of Starbucks. What the hell is going on, it sounds like a crime scene; you okay?”  
“No. That’s would be Thomas Jefferson.” Alexander pursed his lips again and nodded with a fake, tight smile. There was a pause on the other end. John hesitated. 

“Is… he okay?”   
“Oh yeah, I’ll bet he is right about now.”  
There was another sigh, “Alex, just spill for the sake of everyone's time.” Alexander took him off speaker and tucked the phone against his ear. 

“We get back on our lunch break from training. We’re making lunch in the kitchen.”  
“How domestic.”  
“I suggest we--uh--pass the time. He says yes, and starts leading me on, meanwhile I didn’t think I’d get that far. He's like ‘Ooh, I’m gonna punish you, Alexander’ type shit.” Alexander mocked his voice offensively, pressing the accent hard. 

“And then with the believability of Riverdale season four, three twinks in stupid little polo shirts come strolling in like they’re usuals here.”  
“Oh God.”  
“And they come to the kitchen--”  
“Alexander. Please don’t tell me I just listened to moaning.” John interrupted, obviously with his forehead in his hand and rubbing his temples. Alexander rolled his eyes, taking his sweatshirt string out of his mouth and picking at it. 

“Bingo. And one of them moans like a raccoon in a garbage disposal…” Alexander grumbled disgruntledly, biting the string again and crossing his arms.   
“Alex, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re jealous.” 

Alexander paused, lips falling apart and string falling back against this belly. He scoffed, offended, and held up a finger.  
“I. Am not jealous.” he spoke firmly, but damn it sounded so fake. He tried to cover it up by changing the subject.   
“I’m just so horny, John, you have no idea how this is.” he pouted. 

“Aww, baby.” John pouted right back, obviously mocking him nonchalantly while writing something down on the other end of the line.   
“It’s not funny, asshole.” Alexander spat, getting particularly annoyed at a loud moan of what sounded suspiciously like "Daddy!" from downstairs. 

“Jefferson was supposed to crack, not do this weird soap-opera shit.” Alexander waved a hand and let it fall back to the covers with an angry huff, “I hate him.” he grumbled. 

“Well, look man. You’re playing hard-to-get. You’re teasing him. Maybe he just moved on cause you led him on too much; I don’t blame the guy.”

Alexander pulled his legs into crisscross, frustrated, “No, you don’t understand, he’s only doing this SPECIFICALLY to punish me. He wants ME to crack.”  
“And you want him to crack.”  
“Yeah.”  
“Well, I don’t know what to tell you, dude.” John sighed, obviously occupied with something else, “How about you sit this down like adults, make an agreement.” There was the sound of a page turning, “As I see it, the more you do this weird dance, the hornier you get, the less likely you are to figure it out. This can’t last forever, you know. You’re going on a mission; it won’t all be pretty apartments and training. It’s gonna be REAL pretty damn soon and you’re gonna wanna have some sort of compromise before you start staying in motel rooms and killing mafia rats.” 

“Mmh.” Alex grunted, still pouting. He was so used to getting exactly what he wanted, when he wanted it. And now Thomas was throwing that off, fucker. He didn’t want to agree with his friend, but of course the logical part of him told the mischief part of him that John was right.   
He hated that John was right. 

“Lighten up, dude. Just be mature about it, and it’ll come to you soon.”  
“But I want an oompa loompa NOW.” Alexander quoted one of his all time favorite movies in the whiny voice that he was surely identifying with right now. John chuckled.   
“Hang in there. Jerk off or something.”  
“Can’t. Haven’t orgasmed since the gala.”  
“Damn.”  
“Yeah. Bye.”  
“Bye.” 

He hung up and tossed his phone into the bed, flopping back into the pillows with an exhausted huff. He rubbed his eyes and listened to what sounded less like moaning and wailing and now and more like muffled crying. Lucky bastards, he thought, rolling out of bed to strip off his sweatshirt and toss it on a chair irritably. He was so sick of this; his goal was to wrap Thomas around his finger and relieve some sexual tension and now it was a stupid game of chess. And somehow he’d ended up ruining himself so much so now ONLY that idiot could make him cum. 

Now that he was off the phone, the truth in John’s words rang in his head. They couldn’t keep teasing forever before putting an end to it. And soon. 

He rummaged around for where he’d thrown his training jacket between some boxes before he remembered.   
“Fuck it.” He grumbled, wiping a hand over his mouth when he realized he’d left it downstairs. A debate in his mind ensued; did he really NEED to go down before they’d… finished whatever they were doing? Like an answer from the heavens, his phone buzzed somewhere in his bed. The boy sighed and fished around in the sheets, pushing the comforter aside to find his phone and tilt it up to his face. 

There was text from Lafayette. 

“The physical fitness half of our training today will be hand-to-hand combat. Tell Agent Jefferson to wear shorts, he is not responding to what I send.” 

Alexander read it a few times and bit his lip, already feeling the dread pool in his gut.   
“Damn-fuck-it, Lafs.” Alex cursed under his breath, tucking his phone in his pocket with a gulp and looking up to the ceiling to gain the mental preparation he was going to need going into this. He needed a paid vacation and three business days’ warning before diving into something this difficult, but now he was going to have to do it on the fly. 

Alexander threw on his own shorts and thudded down the stairs, brushing his hand over the railing. He wasn’t going to lie to himself; a part of him was curious to see exactly WHAT was going on in there--a sick little dirty-minded part of him. But the rest didn’t want to see a damn thing. Mostly what he was missing out on. 

When he reached the bottom of the stairs and peeked down the hall, he stopped and crossed his arms like a teacher catching a student cheating.   
“You gotta be shitting me…” he breathed, shaking his head slowly in wonder. That dirty fucking bastard had purposely left the door open so Alexander would hear them. It was just… SITTING there, letting all the sound in the world out to echo in the apartment. Of course Thomas would do that; he had no chill whatsoever. 

Alex shook his head firmly and balled his fists, preparing himself for whatever eye-gouging sights he was about to witness. Fine. If Thomas Jefferson wanted to play dirty, he’d play dirty. Out on the wrestling mat today. 

There were only tiny, suppressed moans as Alexander padded towards the room. And.... ugh wet sounds too. He took a deep breath in and held it as he stepped in front of the doorway and stood confidently in it, tossing his chin in the air to assert his indifference. 

Though it was a fight not to let his jaw drop. 

Thomas was just sitting up in bed, leaning back leisurely against the pillows and headboard. He had an arm around each twin, who were slowly… slowly kissing and licking at his face and abs with blissfully closed eyes. Black collars jingled around their necks. The covers were pulled up lazily to his lap where under them a large lump moved, bobbing. He was getting his dick sucked.

“Ehem.” Alexander coughed indiscreetly, halting the little scene in the bed. Thomas looked up, blinking his dark eyes open and focusing on Alexander. His brow twitched when he laid eyes on him. The twins both lurched to a stop, retreating and curling slowly into Thomas with wary eyes at Alexander, still lightly touching Thomas with the tips of their fingers, tracing his abs. Something about it made Alexander’s lips purse in irked annoyance. 

Thomas looked calmly down between his legs.   
“Nico, my pet.” he grumbled in that deep voice, causing the third boy to lift his head from under the covers and swivel around confusedly until he finally caught sight of Alexander and widened his eyes. Alex scowled darkly. The boy’s lips were wet, red, and swollen from sucking, and he was wearing a collar too. 

Thomas took a deep contented breath, shifting his hips in the bed and brushing his fingers over one of their hairless chests lazily, just to watch Alexander’s eyes dart from it back to him.   
“I think it’s quite obvious that I’m busy, Alexander.” He nodded cooly, lifting a dainty hand to pet the other one’s hair, smoothing it down against his neck. Alex rolled his eyes up to the ceiling and held down a scoff at the way the boy reacted, nuzzling into the touch and basically orgasming with honor. 

“Yeah, well I think it’s obvious that I didn’t ask.” The boy clapped back, usual snarkiness coming into play. Thomas stiffened with distaste for the disrespect, but Alexander interrupted before he could say anything.   
“Lafs says to wear shorts. We’re doing hand-to-hand. And you’re gonna be late so wrap it up, Angel Rivera.” 

“Mmm…” Thomas hummed, hooking a single finger in the metal loop of the blonde’s collar and slowly pulling him back down under the covers. Thomas’s lips twitched into a slight grin to signal what that head was doing now.   
“And you would know all about being late.”   
“Whatever, man. Make yourself late, I don’t give half a shit; I’ll just knock your teeth out when we get there.” Alex shook his head, looking away and stepping out of the doorframe. 

Nothing but a tiny patronizing chuckle sounded from within the room as Alexander stormed away, frustrated and annoyed.   
“Naughty little brat, isn’t he?” Thomas breathed, loud enough so that Alexander could perfectly hear it.   
“Mhm.” someone hummed, obviously with their mouth on some part of Thomas--WHERE exactly, Alexander didn’t want to know. The sniper snagged his things off the couch and breezed out the door, not bothering to get anything to eat. He needed a clear head for what was coming up, and after seeing everything go down in Thomas’s bed, he knew it was finally time to let Thomas win. 

“Have it your way, asshole…” Thomas spat to himself, flinging open the front door and slamming it closed, “But I’m gonna do your way MY way.” he grumbled. 

**

Alexander sat on the bench nailed to the wall facing the main fighting platform. There were smaller ones in the gym too, but this was the one that was gathered at--the center of attention. As of the moment, it was empty, but agents milled around the gym, more than usual it seemed, casting Alexander sideways glances. 

The boy leaned up against the cool wall, head tilted slightly upwards as always as he taped up his hands with prudent care in fighting wrap. He was so deep in concentration, pulling back with a ripping sound and rolling his wrist, getting into the rhythm that he didn’t even register Lafayette strolling up to him until he spoke. 

“Mes excuses pour le retard, mon ami.” The rolling voice purred like a great, pompous cat. The boy did a double take, squinting up past the bright lights to the standing man. He shaded his eyes with the hand not being wrapped.   
“Huh?” he grunted ungracefully, lip curled. Lafayette rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, inhaling deeply. 

“You really must take some French, Alexander.”   
“You really must kiss my teenage ass.” Alexander snorted, returning to taping up his hands loudly, finishing around his knuckles.   
“No way to talk to an instructor, Agent Hamilton.” He peered down on his student. 

“No sir, you gave that up when you became a friend, Lafayette.” Alex slurred around the tape, looking up into his friends eyes and ripping it off with his teeth and a sticky tearing sound. He smoothed it down against his palm and tossed the tape to his other hand. Lafayette just huffed an amused laugh at the youngster’s obnoxious cheek. Yet so elegant. He had never seen such a combination before, and especially not in one so young. 

He regarded the boy and his brows swooped down. 

“I said earlier in français my apologies for tardiness. But it appears Tomá is far more late than I?” His sentence ended in a question as he turned around, blonde ponytail sweeping over his shoulder whilst he turned his pale face to the room and scanned the gym. Alexander just snorted, encasing his wrist rapidly with a bitten lip. 

“Yeah, wouldn’t expect him too soon.” Lafayette furrowed his brows, turning his head over his shoulder.   
“What is it you say?”  
“Seemed pretty busy to me.” Alexander squeezed his eyes shut, tearing off the final bit with his teeth and tossing the roll to Lafayette, who caught it last moment. 

“You might have to face off with me today, coach.” Alexander stood elegantly form his seat, opening and closing his palms experimentally to test that he’d wrapped how he wanted. He stepped towards Lafayette, and to his surprise, the man’s pale blue eyes actually… flickered with something. It was the same something that happened to John, to passerbys in the bureau hallways. Before Alexander could acknowledge it, it was gone, shaken off by the Frenchman. 

His face broke out into a slightly nervous laugh.   
“I don’t think so. We wait for Tomá and watch him do thirty pushups, yes?” Alex shrugged with a frown.   
“Deal.” 

Lafayette’s eyes flickered down to Alex’s hands in the brief silence. Alex’s brows twitched in concern.   
“What?”  
“You will STILL not wear softer gloves?” Alex snickered lightly, holding up both hands and wiggling his fingers. His eyes glinted with that tiny tint of madness just below the surface that made Lafayette want to shiver.   
“Never.” the boy grinned, but Lafayette was already distracted by something else, turning around to face the approaching Thomas, dark head of hair towering over everyone else that was parting like the red sea for him to walk through. The size difference between someone not even five foot seven and someone six foot five would be staggeringly unfair in any fight. If that someone wasn't Alexander Hamilton. 

Thomas had a scowl on his dark brow already, glancing around, inconvenienced, as he approached. Alexander’s playful face immediately fell into hostility once again. 

“What in the name of God is going on here?” The man gestured flatly with his palms, annoyed, “We putting on the goddamn Super Bowl?”  
Lafayette crossed his arms and slowly faced Thomas, long fingers tapping on his arm. He raised a brow at the tardy man.

“I will explain while you pushup. Descendez maintenant.” Thomas stood silently for a moment as if shocked that he was being asked to do such a thing. He looked blankly from Lafayette to the floor where the man was tapping his foot at. 

“Tu ne peux pas être sérieux.” Thomas scoffed in his twangy country-boy-meets-French-hottie accent that hit Alexander HARD by surprise. The boy swallowed, crossing his arms with a small cough against his chest. Lafayette widened his eyes challengingly and nodded at Thomas. 

“Oui. Thirty. I count.” Thomas had no choice.   
Livid, the man lowered to the floor, face darkening with distaste for the task. He had nothing against pushups, but he had a hell of a problem with being ordered into punishments. Alexander watched in triumph with an upturned chin as Thomas assumed perfect position and began, muscles rolling in his shoulders and biceps. Alexander sniffed and cocked his head JUST the tiniest bit to get a better view of that ass in shorts. 

Lafayette cleared his throat and Alexander jumped, afraid he’d noticed, but the man was just about to speak.   
“I’m afraid news of our combat session somehow got out. And now, everyone want to see.” Lafayette laughed and raised his arms in an ‘oh well, what’re you gonna do’ motion. 

“Ah. A show.” Alexander tossed his hair arrogantly, nose in the air. He looked down on Thomas, rather enjoying this position of power.   
“I like shows.” he purred. Thomas shook his head down there, huffing. Lafayette nodded. 

“And I have very strict rules for this, boys. You do not follow, we do not continue, and your punishment will be one you both hate.”  
“Imagine that.” Alex smiled, watching Thomas get a little angrier by the second. Lafayette continued. 

“Number one. Sixty percent up there. I do not want my bodies unable to do work tomorrow morning, bien?”   
Alexander shrugged, “Yep.” he agreed unconvincingly. 

“Second. Side of the head is--how you say?-- ‘fair game’. But you hit the face, you’ll be out of the ring faster than a cheating fiance. Last, you stop when I say. You continue, and I break you apart. This is not something you want. First time around, I want you two just fight, and I watch and see where you are at. D'accord?”

“D'accord.” Thomas drawled darkly, rising slowly from the ground. The vein in his bicep was popping menacingly, giving him an even buffer appearance than usual, and his eyes were black with concentration already settling in. Alexander’s heart fluttered.   
“De-cor.” he tried to mimic the word to laughable results. 

Lafayette tossed his head to the mat--if it could even be called that; it was so large.   
“Xandér, go. I want a word with Tomá.” he pursed his lips and Alexander’s broke into a hidden smirk of victory.  
“Okay, have fun.” he tried to catch Thomas’s eye as he turned away but the man was far too stubborn for that. Instead, Alexander just strode away and stepped up the half-inch onto the mat, feet sinking in slightly. 

The sniper gathered his hair in his hands and pulled it back into a short ponytail that would probably fall out anyway, but it was worth a shot. Strands were already floating around his shoulders and he tucked the strays behind his ears. By the time he got to the center of the space and came back to reality, he acknowledged the hush that had fallen over the gym. 

His hazel eyes darted around, calculating, analyzing. People milled about the perimeter of the mat, sitting on benches or watching him surreptitiously. Some he recognized vaguely, some he’d never seen in his life, but they all had the same look on their face. Wary expectancy, Alexander decided curtly, and all the eyes on him ignited the fire crackling within. 

Like a looming shadow, Thomas came up from the other side, same uniform as Alexander, different gloves. Alex felt his heart thud at the daunting task ahead of him; comprehending it all at once. The gloves were new, black and white leather, Alexander noted as they glinted in the bright lights. The man sauntered slowly towards him, pulling one glove on his left hand and slowly wrapping the dangling strap around his wrist three times, taunting him. 

“Nice of you to show up.” Alexander cracked his neck back and forth, rolling it. Thomas huffed a laugh without smiling, pulling on the other glove menacingly.   
“Have a good time?”  
“Terrific.” Thomas monotoned simply, wrapping the strap around, taking his sweet… sweet time. Nobody could hear them due to the distance, which would be to Alexander’s advantage today. If anyone was good at winding someone up with mind games, it was the sniper. 

“Oh really? Those vanilla-boys actually satisfy your sadistic ass?”   
“Mm.” Thomas grunted unresponsively, shaking out his hands at his sides, curling them experimentally. That was all the answer the sniper had needed. Alexander’s eyes flickered down to his hands and back up with a light smirk. 

“No fingers on those?” he mused, slowly taking a smooth step backwards as Thomas took one towards him, “It’ll be funny when I break all fifteen knuckles on your little wimpy girl hands.”  
“That’s ironic coming from you.” Thomas snorted, entertained as he kept walking slowly forward, moving Alexander back without even touching him, pure dominant energy doing the work. 

Alex barked a high laugh, “Fair. So.” he tossed his chin, changing the subject, “What did Lafs say to you?” his eyes flashed mischievously, “Not to provoke me?”

“Actually.” Thomas responded, rolling and cracking his wrists, “He said to go easy on you, kid.” Alex’s heart fluttered as his foot missed the ground and he tripped up a bit. His head whipped back to realize that Thomas had pressed him off the edge of the mat hands-free. The man’s eyes sparkled as he shook his head condescendingly and turned away with a tiny scoff.

There were snickers and murmurs from around the room, people whispered to one another in a hushed buzz. Alex glanced around, cheeks flushing crimson with humiliation. If there was anything Alexander despised, it was being daunted. Power was his strong suit. His eyes darkened, fists clenching at his sides. Fine. He’d give them a show. 

“Rule number fucking one.” he spat, muscles bunching up as he prepared to bolt. Thomas had no time to react before Alexander rushed at him, hooking an arm around the back of his neck and throwing his momentum sideways into the large opponent, trapping both of Thomas’s knees between his own. 

Unexpecting, Thomas could only let out an “oof!” before he was twisted and slammed to the ground with a smack of skin on mat, Alexander scrambling on top of him, the two men snarling primitively. Thomas strained his neck to look up at the boy, fire crackling in his glare, “Never. Turn your back on your opponent.” he smiled, eyes wild already. 

People watching leaned in, and even more joined the group, eyes wide with awe at a sight millions would die to see. The most famous agents--now enemies--of all time training in hand-to-hand combat. 

Thomas growled, looking around at the crowd slowly accumulating and then back, livid.   
“Fine. You want me to play dirty?” he turned back to Alex and hooked his leg on the outside of Alexander’s. He blocked a swinging fist with his forearm and immediately wrapped his arm around the smaller’s back. In one swift, powerful movement, he shoved off the ground with his other arm in an explosive maneuver, flipping Alexander onto his back and knocking the wind out of him. 

“Shit.” Alex wheezed as Thomas climbed on top.   
“I’ll play dirty.” Thomas snarled, pinning both wrists over Alexander’s head and digging his nails in. Alexander grunted between gritted teeth, trying to twist but the size difference was really coming into play now. Thomas just sat there on top of him and watched him struggle to do anything, feet kicking. 

“This is a little pathetic.” He laughed, but he choked when Alexander whipped forth his head, slamming his hard skull right into the soft part of Thomas’s belly before he had time to tense. While he was distracted, Alexander yanked his hands free and caught Thomas right in the ear with a left, remembering to only give sixty percent right before he collided with him. 

The man’s head snapped sideways with a sickening smack, and Alexander wiggled out from under him, stumbling back and heaving for breath. That was fucking close. As he had predicted his hair was out now and hanging almost to his shoulders as usual. Thomas slowly... slowly stood and lowered his hand from his ear, which was producing a high-pitched ringing. His livid glare bolted up to Alexander. The boy dropped to a defensive stance as Thomas began to sidestep. When they were in their waiting positions, Alexander attacked Thomas in a far different way. His specialty. 

“I’ve figured you out, Jefferson.” Alexander spoke, fists in front of his mouth. He sidestepped too so that they were slowly circling one another.   
“Have you, now?” Thomas spat, upholding their crawling pace. Alex tossed some already-damp hair out of his face.   
“You’re only cool when you’re in control. Lose it for a fraction of a second and,” Alexander snapped, “Poof. Nada.” 

Thomas lunged forward with a snarl, and Alexander swung a right cut that Thomas deflected, jabbing the heel of his palm up into Alexander’s throat instead. The boy exposed his side as he choked, which Thomas rounded a swift kick into, thudding against his ribs and sending him skidding to the floor. Thomas bounced once as he place his foot back on the mat. 

“TOMÁ….” A firm voice called the warning from somewhere at the front of the crowd. Thomas shook it off like an annoying mosquito and went to clock Alexander out when the boy grunted violently, swinging the heel of his foot right up into his crotch. 

Thomas roared, curling in before Alexander hooked his legs around the back of Thomas’s ankles and yanked him forward, knocking the already-off-balanced man crashing to the mat. Still sputtering and seeing stars from the hit to the throat, Alex coughed, climbing on top of Thomas once again. 

“Cheap shit, Thomas. Real fucking cheap.” he wheezed, heaving with brutality, curling a small hand around Thomas’s throat and raising his fist up to shoulder-level. With a crunch, he punched him right in the mouth, point-fucking-blank. Thomas snarled and his head snapped back, eyes squeezed shut and contorted against the explosion of pain lancing across his face. Alexander leaned in closer, lips right next to his ear. 

“We have to work this out, driver boy. I’m finished. It’s over.” he panted heavily, exhausted, “You’re finished too; I can fucking see it in your eyes.” 

“ALEXANDER.” A voice boomed from the side of the mat, obviously Lafayette broiling with outrage at the rulebreaking. 

Thomas jerked his knee up to meet it’s home in Alexander’s belly with a sickening squeak and surged up from the ground. He growled, grabbing Alexander’s shoulders and twisting as they careened back over, sending Alex to smack flat on his belly with Thomas pinning him from behind. 

Alexander couldn’t even react before Thomas’s bicep and forearm curled around his throat, lifting it up uncomfortably from the ground, stretching, and keeping him in a choking headlock. The boy hacked, clawing at Thomas’s arm, but he was simply too big, crushing the smaller opponent. He lowered his lips down to Alexander’s sweaty hair and brushed them over his ear. 

“You finally had enough, kid?” he growled, pressing harder against the back of Alexander’s body so he could… FEEL him, “Gonna grow the fuck up? You could have done this a while ago, Hamilton.” 

But Alexander didn’t have the time or air to respond before he felt the impression of feet around him on the soft mat.   
“Des imbéciles stupides!” A French voice spat, and Thomas felt powerful hands curl around under his armpits. 

“Get up. RIGHT NOW, Jefferson.” Lafayette boomed, frightening the both of them, Thomas screwed up his lips, eyes darkening as he released Alexander’s throat and leaned back, Lafayette yanking him to stand and dragging him roughly backwards. 

Alexander choked, GASPING for air, hacking violently as someone manipulated him into his grip, jerking him to his feet as well. Alexander couldn’t see who was restraining him, but Lafayette was holding Thomas back too, and the man wasn’t any less worse for wear. Scarlet blood seeped from his nose where Alexander had struck him unfairly into his mouth. 

The man’s ebony eyes burned into Alex’s as he spat onto the floor, blood spraying from his mouth. Alexander--being Alexander--couldn’t help but find that ravishingly sexy. Their hostile eyes locked, never daring to stray as Lafayette scolded them loudly. The crowd, of course, was buzzing with excitement at this spectacle, some flicking out phones to take photos and videos. 

“Idiot boy, WHAT did I say? I say control your temper, I say no strikes to the face.” he boomed, voice carrying amply to both of them. Alexander jerked against his captor, but whoever it was had his arms snared.   
“HE started--”  
“I DON’T CARE who started it; I’ll FINISH it.” Lafayette interrupted, snagging one of Thomas’s arms and dragging him off the mat. 

“You follow, stupid child.” Lafayette cursed snappishly, and Alexander was released, brushing himself off with a sneer over his shoulder to the woman that had been holding him in place. The disheveled sniper hopped off the mat, trotting to catch up with Thomas and Lafayette who were already entering the hallway to the elevator. 

“Hey? Where the hell are we going?” Alex scoffed with an echoing voice in the new space, snagging his gym bag off the bench by the water fountain as he breezed by. Lafayette did not turn around as he bursts through the iron double-doors into the elevator port.  
“Quiet, enfant débile.”   
“What did you call me?” Alexander stuck his face rudely up to Lafayette’s.   
“Silence. In.” He shoved both men in like they were ragdolls, and stepped in himself, facing them and punching an elevator button with fury. Lafayette was a passionate person, yes. And that meant passionate in ALL his emotions. 

He pursed his lips, seething red-faced at the motley pair standing next to each other stiffly.   
“I am ashamed of you both. How dare you?” he barked, gesturing vibrantly with his hands between them. Alex just spat something under his breath and picked at the strap of his bag. 

“A hundred people come and you bring shame onto me. You not only humiliate yourselves in acting like foolish dogs humping each other, you humiliate me. What do you think you show to the agents today?” 

He crossed his arms waiting for an answer. When none was given he looked straight at Thomas.  
"HMM?” he cut into him with a razor-sharp glace. Thomas inhaled, white-knuckles, obviously holding back his frustration as he forced himself to answer. 

“That the only hope at defeating Burr is infighting.”  
“THANK you, Tomá.” He exclaimed exaggeratedly, making Alexander want to hit something, but Lafayette’s onslaught of criticism was far from finished. 

“Infighting, weak, petty, disorganized, dishonorable, disobedient.” He counted off on all five fingers holding them up so the men in the elevator could see clearly as the bell dinged to signal their arrival, “THIS is what you show to the bureau today. And this is the last time you will show such lack of maturity.” 

He turned curtly on his heel and strode out of the elevator into what they both recognized as the Department Lobby. A huge circular room with a detailed marble compass as the floor, there were archways all around the room that led to each of the departments. A few men and women in suits were breezing through, a couple stood around checking things on their phones. 

“Follow.” Lafayette snapped over his shoulder. Alex made a move for the door, but Thomas pushed by him first.   
“Yeah, ladies first, jackass.” Alexander spat quietly, earning him a glare as Thomas wiped blood from his face with his sleeve. They strode at Lafayette's rapid pace down the ornate hall labeled the Agents Department. Alexander remembered it well; it was like walking back into a movie. 

Heads lifted from open tables as they breezed through, a few trying to approach Lafayette, the Head of Agents, but he deflected them with nothing more than a glance. The sight was surely a spectacle to see in the middle of a regular work day. The Head of Agents, two legends bloodied and battered basically RUNNING through without speaking. The gaping mouths were surely justifiable. 

Lafayette tossed the two into a room and kept himself in the doorway. His icy blue eyes darted between the, authoritatively.   
“You will stay in this spare office until you have worked out these differences. That is my order. That is your discipline.”  
“H--”  
“Silencieux. I don’t want to hear it.” Lafayette held up a hand to silence Thomas. He pointed from one to the other.   
“You signed contract to contribute the best effort to this mission. For the good of the country. And you start RIGHT now.” He ordered, “I am closing the door now.” he retracted his head from the room and stepped outside, one hand on the sliding glass door. He pressed the button that causes the windows to fog. 

“If I do not do this, you would never have done it on your own. Talk.” He snapped, sliding it shut with a click. And once again, the enemies were left standing in stifling silence. Alone. 

For a few moments Alexander stood in indecisiveness. 

“Well,” Alexander inhaled, placing his hands on his hips, “This is ironic.” he turned to Thomas, but the man was not nearly as playful as he. Alexander’s face fell; the man was looming over him irritated. 

“Why did you punch me, jackass?” he snarled. The bleeding had stopped but it was still smeared on his face. Alex shrugged, leaning against the office desk.   
“You kicked me.”  
“You launched my balls into my stomach and clock me point-blank in the face.” 

Alexander looked up and around, taking in his surroundings, “Choked me.” he justified nonchalantly. It looked like any normal office, a desk with two chairs, calendars, file cabinets, office supplies on the desk and shelves. 

He let his eyes fall back on Thomas, plopping his gym bag onto the floor.   
“Mind if I change?”   
The taller man hesitated for a moment, bemused. 

“What?” he sneered,   
“Change. You got blood on my shirt.”  
“YOU got blood on your shirt.”

“Yeah, yeah…” Alex had already bent over, unzipping his bag. Thomas watched him for a moment before leaning casually up against the file cabinet, never turning his back. He wouldn’t forget that little tip. There was shuffling of fabric as Alexander sifted through his bag, and Thomas just watched him, thinking. His wheels turned slowly in his mind. 

After a while, he spoke.   
“What you said.” he rumbled deeply, crossing his arms cooly over his chest as he leaned, “During the fight. You mean it?”   
Alexander grunted, crossing his arms and pulling his shirt over his head by the hem. Thomas’s eyes calmly traced him, memorizing the curves of his body. With quiet hunger. 

“Why wouldn’t I?” he huffed, letting it fall off his arms and bending back down to pull a deep green sweatshirt from his bag. As his hair fell in front of his face, something on the bottom of Alexander’s neck caught Thomas’s eyes. He squinted, brows flickering down. There were black… markings at the very bottom of his neck at shoulder-level on his back. Before Thomas could say anything, Alexander had stood back up, throwing the sweatshirt over his head. 

Thomas shrugged, staying on-topic, “Thought it could have been testosterone and adrenaline induced.”  
“Isn’t everything?” Alexander purred, tossing his hair out of the back of the sweatshirt that fell to his knees. Gucci. Thomas waited a few moments before speaking again.   
“So you didn’t mean it?”  
“No, I meant it.”   
This fucking kid.   
“Don’t try to talk circles, Alex. Not today.”  
“Alright. Fine.” he huffed, zipping up his bag and standing up once again. He let his palms smack down on the side of his legs, all set. 

“No circles, no games. We’re doing it your way today, Jefferson.” There was a bit of a pause as Thomas calculated, analysed the boy’s every move.   
“Really? My way?” the man raised an eyebrow with a short nose-laugh. 

Alexander just shrugged and nodded, placing his hands behind him on the desk and facing Thomas; a smile spread across his face and he sighed.   
“Yep. calmly sit down and make an agreement. Your way. About time, isn’t it?” Alex made a sympathetic face and nodded, wanting Thomas to finally agree. Instead, the raven-haired man just stared at him. Neither moved as they waited. 

Alex tried not to break eye contact, but watching Thomas breathe against the dri-fit shirt was getting mouth-watering. Time ticked on before Thomas slowly dipped his head. 

“Sit down, Alexander.” he drawled, nodding slowly to one of the chairs at the desk. Alex hid a twitching smirk, backing up gradually as Thomas sighed, pushing off against the file cabinet back to full erect standing. He strolled slowly behind Alexander’s chair. 

“If we’re going to do things my way, we’re going to be mature. Capiche?” He placed a hand on the back of Alex’s chair, making him want to shiver as he trailed it off daintily, strolling by.   
“Yeah.” Alex responded as Thomas linked his hands behind his back, sauntering around the side of the desk towards the front. 

“Pen and notepad. Check the drawer.” he commanded. Alexander’s first thought was to retort at the arrogant command, but he reminded himself that he was going to behave now if he wanted the privilege later, and pulled open the metal tray. Thomas had lowered elegantly down to the seat on the other side, folding his hands neatly on the countertop. 

“Uhh… pen.” Alex spoke absently, tossing a plastic one onto the table, “...notepad. It’s big.” he handed a yellow-sheeted notepad across to Thomas, and he was right--it was big. 

“Perfect.” Thomas approved smoothly, setting it down in front of him and opening to a blank page. Alexander sat and did nothing but watch him, feeling like he was in an interview. With a kinky teacher that was going to round on him at any moment unless he was careful. The boy cleared his throat, swinging his feet under his seat. 

“So.” Thomas looked back up to him, clicking the pen, “You want to make a little agreement.”  
Alex nodded confidently and tried to cool himself now that this was happening. Days of teasing and at last the stubborn spirits would come to a truce. Maybe, if he did this right. Alexander slowly leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest.

“I do. And we scrap our old one immediately. That’s condition one.”   
Thomas gave him a gentle warning-glance for being so forward, but Alex tossed his chin with a light smirk on his lips as Thomas began writing with loopy letters on the notepad. 

“I’ll do the writing, wise-guy. All previous agreements against sexual contact are void.” he read before going back in, “Due to job-affecting…”  
“Horniness.”  
Thomas looked up at him with a sharp warning this time, “Repercussions…” Thomas filled in instead, shaking his head at the boy. When he was finished, he looked back up with those dark eyes across the desk. He could see the impatience in Alexander’s hazel ones as he tapped a foot under the desk. He was hungry. And he wanted his sustenance now. 

“Rule number one. Nobody knows.”  
“Too late.” Alexander immediately responded, shaking his head with honest pursed lips. Thomas pricked, jaw clenching as outrage mounted in his dangerous eyes.   
“WHAT--”  
“Laurens is basically my brother. The secret is safe with him; he swore on his life not to tell.”  
Thomas waited, drawing out a silence at he digested that little idea. He cursed and turned back to the pad.

“I’ll enforce that he keeps that oath.” Thomas grumbled, spitting something else under his breath as he wrote down the rule, clearly disapproving but what had been done had been done. And they needed to get through this before Alexander cracked. 

“Okay.” he tapped the end of the pen on the paper with a popping sound, “Next, this is purely carnal. Sexual needs satisfied is the only goal.”  
Alex frowned and shrugged with his crossed arms, “Fair.”  
Thomas sighed deeply and briefly rubbed his temples before looking back up happily, “We are not friends, and I hate you.” Thomas looked across and smiled a tight smile that Alexander returned with a cute little nose wrinkle.

“Mmm, aren’t you just a bundle of joy.” he hummed as Thomas wrote, pen scratching on paper. 

Alex kept tapping his foot on the thin carpet under the desk, unable to control it. How much longer would this take? And why was being so methodical about it turning him on so much? How could Thomas’s long, tan fingers gripping a pen turn him on? He swallowed, mouth dry and just slightly desperate. 

“And about other people.” Alexander prompted, trying to get himself back on track. Thomas looked up slowly twirling the pen between his fingers. Alexander watched, slightly mesmerized.   
“Other people are fair game. For both of us.” Alex could tell right off the bat that something about that didn’t settle well with Thomas. The man licked his lips, wetting them, and Alexander just twitched his brows down.  
“What, man?”

“Nothing. You’ll just be disappointed in anyone else after having sex with me.”  
Alexander interrupted him with a high laugh. 

“Oh, my bad, almighty sex-lord.” Alexander praised with a scoff, “I’m sure there are plenty more bad-tempered douchebags with expensive toys out there. I’ll take my chances.” he snorted arrogantly, but Thomas was not so amused. His eyes were dark… almost… possessive as he wrote on the paper letters gouging indents now. 

“Fine. That’ll be a challenge on your part.”  
“Whatever you want.” Alex shrugged, still a bit amused at Thomas’s ego. He scratched the words onto the paper. As Alexander checked his phone, a random buzzfeed notification or something. Just a weird soap evaluation. But then it set off this lightbulb in his head that he wouldn’t have remembered. 

“Oh, also. I want aftercare.”  
“Not a chance.” Thomas grumbled without even looking up or hesitating in the slightest, still writing. Alex made a face, setting his phone face-down on the desk. 

“Dude. You can’t just say ‘no’, this is a compromise, asshole.”  
“Hey. Buddy.” Thomas snapped, voice raising the slightest degree and flipping the switch in Alexander. Oh, GOD he wanted it BAD. Thomas poked a pointer finger down onto the table.   
“I just said I didn’t do romance. Especially not with you.” he spat the last word, curling his lip in disgust. Alexander copied him. 

“I don’t want any romance from you, cootie-master, I just appreciate a nice bath every once in a while.”  
“So you don’t want aftercare, you want a fucking servant.”

“No.” Alex responded with a headshake, “According to countless sources, aftercare is proven to be one of the most beneficial--”  
“Okay, okay, God, just.” Thomas clipped shortly, holding up a hand and pursing his lips with short patience as he brought the pen back to the paper.   
“Will ya shut up if I agree?”

“Yes, sir.” Alex dipped his head, sweet as honey as soon as he got what he wanted. Little brat.   
“Fine. Aftercare on command afters sex. You don’t ask for it, I won’t do it, clear?”  
“As a crystal.” Alex nodded happily. Free massages? Yes please. Thomas scribbled it down, and when he was done, lifted the notepad and flipped it over to another page. Alexander hesitated, brows swooping down. 

“We still had room.”  
“Subject is changing, sweetheart. On from rules into kinks.”  
“Shit…” Alexander shuffled slightly in his seat, not expecting that they would discuss that here. And in such a professional manner. It almost felt weird, sitting in an office at work to speak about kinks and negotiations.

“I think.” Alex swallowed to cover his enthusiastic shock, “You're gonna need a bigger note.”  
Thomas let the note pad fall down to the table and cocked his head, lips parted, “Did you just quote ‘Jaws’ while we’re making a BDSM contract?”  
“Maybe.”  
“We’ll start with hard and soft limits.” Thomas laughed and grinned playfully over at Alexander, clicking the pen again, “Hard first.” he sniffed, turning his tone back to serious.   
Alexander just paused, humor falling away, and looked around like he was confused. 

“I... don’t.” he shook his head, straight faced.   
“Don’t what?”  
“Don’t have any.”

Thomas leaned back in his seat, giving Alexander a raised eyebrow, “Don’t. Have. Any.” he enunciated slowly, trying to wrap his head around that. Alex just shrugged and shook his head with pure sincerity.   
“Nope.” 

Thomas just sat there for a moment, bemused to try and mull that over. He blinked incredulously and scoffed, still amazed.   
“Right, well.” he scooted the chair back towards the desk and leaned forward, bewildered, “I do. So listen up.”   
Alexander turned his hazel eyes to look up to Thomas’s.   
“I’m all ears.”

“Brilliant.” Thomas clipped, setting the pen down to say these face-to-face with Alexander, “First of all, I only work with black leather and iron for most all of my tools. If you want me to put you in pink, fluffy handcuffs and call you pretty, you’re in the wrong place.”  
Alex held up his hands innocently, nodding in full agreement, “Perfect.”

“Also,” he continued, not pausing for Alexander to put in another word, “We will not ‘switch’. I am a natural dominant, and I think I’ve made that very clear.”  
“As bath salts.”  
“You will obey my commands. I have many. Any bad manners and misbehavior will result in punishment, good behavior will be rewarded.” 

Alexander was slowly getting more and more restless, trying not to wiggle in his seat. He had waited. GOD, he had waited so long, and he just wanted Thomas to stop talking and fuck him already.   
“That is reasonable.”  
“It is.” Thomas nodded deeply, “You will not moan anyone else’s name during sex. You will address me as ‘sir’ or ‘daddy’. I will address you as I wish.”   
“Yes.”  
“And you will NEVER… cum without permission. I cannot stress that enough, so take note of it NOW.” he emphasized. 

Alexander could hear his own heavy breathing in the office and he tried to regulate it before Thomas heard. But the man was well aware of his state, how he was already falling apart for it.   
“Yes sir.” Alexander managed, biting his lip to hush himself afterwards.   
Thomas remained fully calm, which was both frustrating and turning Alexander on. And he WAITED, goddamnit. Thomas dragged it on for the sole and core purpose of watching Alexander try and pull himself together and fail. It was silent as his blood rushed in his ears. Eventually Alexander just couldn't take it anymore and laughed, looking down at the floor with burning cheeks and then back up to Thomas. 

“You’re despicable.” he laughed breathily, and Thomas just hummed.   
“Kinks. Name a top few so I know what I’m dealing with here.” 

Alexander looked up to the ceiling for a moment, getting his shit together before returning a coy smirk to Thomas.   
“Like everything else, I like it dangerous. You know that.” Thomas just nodded with a grunt of acknowledgement, writing slowly with loopy letters as he retained eye contact, which was amazing in itself.   
“So I… obviously get along nicely with gunplay.”  
“I’ve noticed.” Thomas grumbled, twitching a sharp, dark brow over at him. And fucking shit, Alexander was not going to last doing this for much longer. He swallowed again with a tiny laugh, meeting Thomas’s cool eyes. 

“Humiliation and orgasm denial are biggies.”

He caught the movement of Thomas’s lip twitching out of the corner of his eye. Alexander paused, scanning his face.   
“What was that?”  
“Oh nothing.” Thomas purred, still writing before he set the pen down calmly to look into Alexander’s eyes, “Those happen to be a couple… personal favorites.” he explained with a professionalism that made Alex want to crawl across the desk and have at him. Instead, he retained his cool and nodded. 

“A match made in heaven, aren’t we.” he purred cunningly.   
“Shut up.” Thomas blinked with such a serious tone that Alex actually obeyed. After a moment, he let the discipline pass, “Go on.” 

Alex cleared his throat.   
“Whippings with belts can make me cum.”  
“Alone?”  
“Yes. Literally just the belt.” Alex explained, somehow not even embarrassed. Thomas wrote that down. 

“Whippings in general no matter what fancy thing you want to use is a yes. Up to you. Spankings will get me off too, fair warning.”   
“Hm.” Thomas laughed lightly, deep in concentration as he scribbled neatly and orderly on the paper.  
“Pain. In general. Whatever you have in mind, I can handle.” 

Thomas suddenly stopped. His pen stopped scratching on the page. 

Alex stopped speaking too, confused. The older man kept his pen on the paper but turned his ebony eyes up to the boy. They flashed with something dark and dangerous, something deeply rooted in his core.   
“I would be careful giving me that sort of rein, Alexander.” he whispered, so quiet it was lethal. 

The boy just tilted his chin, keeping in complete calm with his partner.   
“Try me.” he whispered. Thomas stared at him for a few more drawn out moments, and he felt that familiar stirring in the pit of his gut. It slowly rose, making his heart beat faster in his chest. He knew Alexander was feeling it too. 

He slowly lowered his head back down, jotting that down. Alexander took a moment before picking back up.   
“Do you have a table to chain me down on?” he asked, and Thomas’s lips twitched into a smirk.   
“My bed is designed to flip over. Metal table. I mentioned I only do metal and leather.”  
“Oh… yeah…” Alex trailed, trying to catch his breath. Holy shit, Thomas punishing him on a table like the doctor he was? Oh motherfucking shit, the wait was going to be worth whatever the hell you would call this. 

“Chains, not ropes.” Thomas clarified, “I don’t like ropes.”  
“Me neither.”  
“Perfect.” Thomas jotted it down, he himself slowly working himself up and getting restless. They were both gradually starting to realize how pent up they had been since fucking for the first time at that resort, and it was starting to creep in and engulf the conversation, filling the agents with a sense of urgency.

“And I’m into collars. I know that you are too, so no need to write that.”   
Thomas’s eyes darted up, trying to figure out if he was trying to imply anything.   
“You mocking me?”  
“Why would I mock you for something I like, man?” Alex shrugged and leaned back in his seat, twirling up the string of his sweatshirt. Thomas cast him a wary glance before clicking the pen, giving him ample information that that was his last warning. 

“Is that it?”  
“No.” Alex responded with a nonchalant shrug, looking only at his string now around his finger.   
“I like degradation, slut shaming, spit, kink shaming. Dirty talk, over-possession. I eat cum like a milkshake. The list is endless. But my patience right now sure isn’t, man.” he shrugged, “not going to lie to you.”

“Well.” Thomas leaned back cooly in his seat, ripping the double-sided page out of the notepad before bringing the pen to the top and giving it a title. In deep black ink, he wrote eloquently in all caps, “THE HAMILTON FILES” he looked calmly across to Alexander as he folded it once, creasing the paper between his thumb and index finger. 

“I appreciate your honesty.” he spoke evenly, folding it again with a crinkle and pocketing it in his shorts.   
“This can be brought out, on command, and edited with dual consent.” he tapped it lightly with two fingers through the fabric. 

But Alexander was already long gone, tossing the pen back into the drawer in front of him carelessly, “Shut up.” he clipped. Thomas’s eyes snapped open like that was a trigger word.   
“Excuse me what?” he spoke rapidly all in the same breath as if it were one word. Alex slammed the drawer in front of him, making Thomas jump slightly, and a jar of pencils spilled over on the table.  
“Did I stutter? Shut up; I’ve been waiting for this for days, driver-boy.” Thomas coolly raised from his seat, straightening his sleeves. 

“Alright. I’m going to give you till the count of three, Alexander.” he blinked down at him, eyes stormy with power, “And you clean up that mess.” he nodded to the spilled over jar, “And apologize for using that tone of voice with me.”

Alexander just slowly reclined in his chair and folded his arms over his chest, squinting up at Thomas defiantly like a naughty teenager. Thomas twitched a brow at his behavior and Alexander twitched one right back, affirming that yes. This was how he was going to play it. Fine, Thomas thought. 

“One…” the man spoke. Alex lifted one leg quietly onto the table in at a relaxed pace, like he had all the time in the world. The second leg followed, and he crossed his ankles.   
“Two…” Thomas counted, feeling the tension in the room build with each dwindling number, time ticking away before both were going to burst, the two unstoppable forces colliding. Alexander nudged his toe up against the jar, pushing it slowly towards the edge of the table, glass sliding on wood. He kept eye contact with Thomas, never looking at his own foot. 

“Three…” Thomas drawled darkly. Alexander slowly… slowly slid the jar off the desk, sending it thudding to the floor with a scattering of rolling pencils. The boy didn’t move. Thomas didn’t move. It was a battle of eyes, waiting, DYING to see who would crack first. Alex didn’t even look down at the mess he’d just made on the floor. 

“Oops.” he whispered, twitching a brow up at Thomas.   
And that’s what did it. 

“Get--” Thomas started loudly but cut himself off, lunging forward and leaning over the desk. He knocked over a stack of binders that went tumbling loudly to the floor. Alexander only had a fraction of a second to smile before Thomas’s hands were under his arms, yanking him forward with such force that it threw both of them back. Alexander was flung over the table with a thud, sending pencils rolling off the edge and his chair crashed down to the floor, wheels still swiveling. 

Through all the noise, Alex didn’t realize Thomas had rounded behind him until he felt the fingers curl around the waistband of his pants from behind. 

“Impatient little slut.” Thomas whispered, ripping both them and his boxers clean off and throwing them to the floor carelessly. Alex gasped at the sudden rush of cold air, being so exposed in a public place. He wrapped one arm under Alexander’s legs and lifted the other in the air, palm flat. 

“Not two minutes in and you choose the hard way. Typical.” he snarled quietly, bringing the hand down brutally to smack the shit out of Alexander’s pretty ass that jiggled. The “thwack!” was so loud, it rang; Thomas’s HAND stung. The boy bucked, jerking violently on the table and sweeping his arm across to grab the edge. More binders rained to the floor in an avalanche of office supplies. 

“AUH FUCK.” he wailed, gouging his fingers into the wood. Thomas surged forward, laying across Alexander’s back and clapping a hand viciously over his mouth and taking the liberty to roughly shove his middle finger past his lips, pressing down on his tongue.  
“Mmph!” The boy’s eyes widened in alarm as Thomas dug his nails into his cheek and held his face up, bending his neck back uncomfortably. He lowered his face right down next to Alexander’s panting livid breaths already. 

“Shut your whore mouth, where the hell do you think we are?” He scoffed, hot breath tousling Alexander’s hair, “You’re disgusting. You want everyone out there to hear you whining like a little bitch?” Thomas rubbed the other hand dryly up and down his raw ass cheek with frictional force, making the delicate skin burn.   
“MMPH!” Alex cried out, muffled by the hand as he jerked again, writhing beneath Thomas who just laughed. 

“God, the things I do for this ass…” Thomas grumbled, biting and licking at Alexander’s ear as he kneaded the cheek roughly, squeezing with his powerful fingers and giving it another crisp slap, not nearly as hard. Alex still whimpered and wiggled, breath moist against his hand. Thomas licked hotly down the side of his neck, briefly biting the sensitive jugular where he had left a dark, painful hickey the previous day, before pulling away completely, freeing Alexander from his crushing weight. 

The boy coughed once, bringing his own hand to his throat that had been bitten; his fingertips brushed lightly over Thomas’s trail of wetness that his tongue had left, and it ignited him all the more. Thomas stepped backwards, observing his work. Alexander had a firm, clear-as-day handprint on his ass, red and stinging. 

“Get up.” Thomas huffed, bending over to hastily collect Alexander’s things from the floor and shoving them in his bag. He rapidly zippered it up and slung it over his back, ready to get the hell back to his apartment. He was burning--BURNING for it as he walked to the door and turned around.  
“I said GET UP.” he raised his voice, hand already on the metal door handle, “My orders aren’t fucking suggestions, smartass. We’re leaving.” he barked, watching Alexander rise with a grimacing wince at the reverberating sting. 

He pulled the hem of his deep green sweatshirt down to his knees, covering himself. He paused, eyes darting from Thomas to his hand already on the door. 

“Let me put some pants on, man.” Alexander spoke, confused, but the look on Thomas’s face said everything he needed to know. There was malice written all over him, but not the kind of mischief that Alexander possessed. It was more dark and tyrannical than joker-ish. The man just stared at him with those icy eyes. 

“I’m sorry.” he whispered coldly, “Did I say anything other than ‘we’re leaving’?” Alexander’s already-solid cock hardened, sensitive tip brushing up against the fabric of his sweatshirt uncomfortably. He couldn't believe it. He tried not to gape and show his absolute bewilderment, but he could not fucking beleive it. Thomas Jefferson was going to make him walk pantsless up to their apartment. The thought made his eyes flutter in raw arousal. 

“Oh don’t be a fucking bitch about it. You’re lucky that covers your thighs.” Thomas sneered, turning the doorknob with a jerking wrist.   
“And don’t act like I didn’t tell you there’d be punishments for shitty behavior, fucking brat.” he cursed him out harshly, shaming him as he slowly walked forth, still trying to comprehend this. He bunched up the fabric in front of him, trying to do anything so that nobody would see. 

“You’re a horrible man, Thomas Jefferson.”   
“Hm.” he huffed an amused laugh, pulling the handle sideways and gliding open the sliding glass door.   
“Ever heard the phrase, ‘be careful what you wish for’?” He mused. Alexander passed him with a challenging glare, never one to back down from a bully. He could feel the heat radiating from Thomas’s body as he brushed by him in the doorframe, locking with those raven eyes for a moment. 

“Ever heard the phrase, ‘get what you give’?” he whispered up into Thomas’s face. The driver’s lips spread into a smile.   
“So you’re planning on being difficult tonight?”  
“Oh. I plan on it.”   
“So be it.” Thomas bowed his head to growl the words into Alexander’s ear, following close behind him as they stepped out into the open. Heads turned over desks and tables, some people stopped moving all together to get a look. A young lady dropped her originals at the sleek copy machine. The driver and the sniper, both with rustled hair and informal dress. 

“Think those walls are thinner than you thought.” Thomas grumbled in his ear, grinning before standing upright with a light hand ghosting possessively over the small of Alexander’s back, guiding him down the long hall to the lobby. People walked beside them, and the lobby was buzzing ahead. Five o’ clock; people were heading to their quarters for the night or up to hang out at the HUB. But Alexander’s cheeks burned a raging fuschia, humiliated. It looked like he could be wearing shorts, of course. Easily. But he and Thomas knew what he was truly doing, and what those linked hands in his pockets were covering. 

The two of them stepped through the marble floors of the lobby, agents and other FBI personnel milling about and talking loudly on phones and some still putting papers away in satchels. Alexander felt people brush against him as they squeezed through, trying to get to the elevator. Thomas’s fingertips just barely brushed against his sweatshirt, keeping tabs on where he was heading. 

The voices chattered so noisily they hardly even heard one of the elevators ding to signal its arrival. Thomas pushed Alexander through some people hastily, wanting to get them both in the back. He had his reasons.   
“Go.” he growled into his ear, maneuvering him to the back corner as six other people filed in after them, filling the cramped space full of bodies. A couple of men buttoned their suits and a lady checked her watch as murmurs went around for floor numbers. Thomas called out his own with a cool tone and Alexander leaned back against the wall, trying to move as little as possible and chill out there for a while. How could he be so impossibly relaxed when Alexander was a touch away from buckling his knees and moaning like a whore? 

As the elevator slowly began to ascend, it fell quiet in the muffled space, everyone just staring at the doors, a couple at their phone screens, and waiting. Alexander did the same until the hand hovering just above his sweatshirt lifted. He thought nothing of it and sniffed casually, just watched the floor numbers ticking away. Until fingertips brushed over the back of his left thigh. 

He gasped out loud, biting his tongue as hard as he fucking could as soon as the sound had come out. Luckily, nobody had turned their heads, but a couple of people gave sideways glances. Alexander glimpsed up to Thomas with his heart pattering, hazel eyes fiery with shocked outrage, but Thomas just stood facing forward like everyone else, hand hidden behind them in the corner. Alexander TRIED to get his eyes, but the man was stubborn, not paying a scrap of attention to him. 

Alex gave up, looking forward, and as soon as he did, the fingers slowly… slowly trailed up grazing the sensitive bottom of his cheek now. This wasn’t such a shock, but he struggled to stand still. More than anything, it TICKLED like hell, and oh, was Alexander ticklish. Thomas cleared his throat gently, lowering his face down to Alexander’s ear one again while still looking forward to be discreet. Having to whisper all the time was also getting him off, and it wasn’t fair. 

“Make a sound and you’re in big trouble, Alexander.” Hearing Thomas whisper his name in that erotic tone was going to make him break, lose control right there after Thomas told him not to. All he could manage was a head shake of hatred. 

“I loathe you.” he whispered, but Thomas just lifted back up to standing tall, rolling his shoulders elegantly back into position. Two fingers traced feather-light up his crack, lifting them hem of the back of the sweatshirt. Thomas glided the fingers back down again and Alexander shivered, biting his bottom lip with FORCE not to make a sound. God, oh God, don’t make a sound, he begged himself; God, he was going to do it. His heart was thrumming madly in his chest, desperately trying to calm down, but that would not be an option now, no. He was fucking humiliated in an elevator in public. This was perfect. 

It only got more perfect when Thomas pressed the warm pads of two fingers right on his entrance and held them there. He didn’t fucking move at all as the elevator stopped and two people got out, murmuring apologies as they brushed by the crowd. Alexander gulped, watching them go and hoping that they couldn’t tell that he was being--

His eyes snapped open, dilating. Right at the height of everything, Thomas opened Alexander up more with his pinkie and thumb, and slipped in his index and fourth finger. Deep.

“Shit!” Alex whimpered, jerking his legs and letting his head fall back against the wall of the elevator with a tiny bang. His little belly fluttered, panting against the feeling of Thomas’s fingers inside of him. A lady stared at him, and he could DIE of mortification. 

He shot her a dirty look, “Wh-What’re you looking at?” Alexander sputtered at her with a glare, and she immediately turned away in embarrassment and clutched her purse, looking back to the doors as they slid closed and they began to ascend again. Alex thought Thomas would just hold there, hold his fingers inside until they reached his floor, but he was relentless and started to move slowly within him, dragging against his sweet spot. Alex squirmed in the most discreet way possible, trying desperately to push Thomas AWAY from his prostate. His knees pressed together. 

Thomas knew exactly what he was doing and leaned down one more time, obviously his last warning.   
“Behave. I can make this a whole lot harder than it has to be, so don’t do it.”  
“No, I don’t think it gets harder than this, fucker.” Alexander growled, frustrated and desperate as he pressed his back against the cool wall of the elevator, trying not to cry out. Thomas pumped in and out of him, relishing in his little struggle. The boy let his head fall back against the wall, eyes fluttering beautifully with parted lips. Thomas watched with satisfaction as the boy’s lips rapidly mouthed: fuckfuckfuckfuckuck. 

The elevator stopped at one last floor before theirs, the last three filing out of the doors. Alexander had his eyes squeezed closed, bottom lip clenched between his teeth as he rocked back and forth barely noticeably with Thomas’s strokes, eyebrows turned up in sweet lust. Thomas wasn’t done yet, however. He wanted to humiliate Alex just a little bit more before they were alone in there. He waited patiently, professional coolness still dominating his actions as the people shuffled out clenching briefcases and strolling into the hall. As the door started to close, that was Thomas’s cue. 

He pushed his fingers up to the knuckles of his fist and RUBBED, pressing HARD on his sweet-spot. 

“Oh--OHH SHIT…” Alex’s knees actually buckled beneath him for a moment before he caught himself, smacking a forearm down on the polished wood railing and digging his nails in urgently. His high moans of surprise echoed--literally echoed--into the hallway right before the doors slid closed. He could hear his voice bouncing back, and the other agents had one moment to turn their heads over their shoulders with concerned looks RIGHT before the door closed.

“Oh my God… Fuck…” he whimpered through gritted teeth as Thomas kept at the pace for a few more moments, cruel and unrelenting.   
“You’re a vocal little shit, aren’t you?” he snarled, pulling out completely and letting the sweatshirt fall back down over that pretty little butt. Alex sputtered, standing up straight on shaky legs. Thomas stepped backwards away from him towards the doors. Alex’s hazel eyes finally met his dark ones, full of bewilderment. 

“You just fingered me in an elevator full of people.” He spoke airily and shook his head in wonder, trying to comprehend what in the fuck had just gone down. Thomas leered at him, curling his lip.   
“And you just moaned in one.”   
The doors dinged open and Alexander was lurched forward as Thomas curled his fingers roughly around the collar of his sweatshirt.   
“Damn you, Thomas.” Alex panted, dragged along as the two hastily strode down the hallway towards Thomas’s door. It was crazy how careless they were being in their desperation; two of the most intelligent professionals stumbling like horny teenagers, urgent to get inside. 

Thomas got to his door and slammed Alexander against it, completely unable to wait any longer. Alex stifled a cry as the bottom side of his aching, sensitive cock rubbed against the dry fabric, pressed between his belly and the friction.   
“Thomas. THOMAS.” his head snapped back and banged painfully against the door as Thomas fumbled in his pocket for his key in his phone case, all while grinding Alexander’s cock painfully against the roughness. The man dived in to bite the now-exposed throat, licking and sucking right at the center, but Alexander wanted to get on with it. He squirmed and panted against Thomas’s face, groping desperately for Thomas’s key out of his hand and pried it loose from his fingers. He pressed it with sloppy haste against the pad and heard a click before reaching up to wrench the handle. 

Perhaps he should’ve given a warning, but they were both too far gone for that. The door gave behind his back and then both went careening into the apartment, stumbling over their own feet and each other’s feet as Thomas refused to let Alex break away, kicking the door closed behind them before they both lost balance, and tumbled right into the decorative table in the entrance. Alex struck out his hand for something to hold onto and swept off a vase that shattered with a disastrous crash to the floor. 

“Little bitch. You’re paying for that shit.” Thomas snarled, reaching down and digging his nails into Alex’s bare thighs to hoist him up off the ground with a grunt. 

“You’re a fucking nightmare, Jefferson.” Alex wrapped his legs around Thomas’s waist and tangled his hands roughly in Thomas’s hair, clenching it between his fingers.   
“Mmph.” he grunted as Thomas pressed viciously into his mouth, sweeping his searing tongue over the younger boy’s. Thomas walked past the shards on the floor, kicking off his shoes and dumping the bag as he passed the living room. 

“You have no idea how hard I’m going to ruin you.”   
“Mm.” Alex slurred into his mouth, licking at his tongue, “Then show me.” 

The door to Thomas’s bedroom was already open, and as they approached Thomas finally got too desperate and broke into a full-on SPRINT inside, Alexander bouncing on his hips with every stride. He huffed, moved his hands to his ribs, and THREW him. Alex cried out as he smacked down to the bed, bouncing once on the made sheets and tossing some pillows. He smiled up from where he was, giggling childishly and stretched his arms up above his head in the pillows with a high, relaxed sigh. 

“We gonna play today, or we gonna get the itch scratched?” he smirked slyly. He was perfectly fine with either one, but right now he just wanted to get fucked up as much as possible. He didn’t know if either of them could think straight if they did some kinky foreplay for an hour. 

Thomas tore off his own shirt with strapping precision, tossing it onto the floor behind him to reveal his toned figure with that one ugly bullet-hole blemish. He shot a dirty look over at Alex, scowling.   
“Shut the fuck up. Did I say you could talk?”  
“Didn’t say I couldn’t.” the boy reason playfully, kicking off his shoes and letting them tumble to the carpeted floor. Thomas surged forward in a rush of movement, clambering onto the bed with a primitive snarl. Alex giggled again as he felt the crushing impact, having way too much fun already. He was so ready, so fucking ready to get nailed. 

Thomas sat up on top of him, heavy on his hips, dark eyes bearing down as he reeled back and hit Alexander across the face with a ringing “smack!”. The boy cried out, not expecting that in the slightest. He gasped desperately, trying to bring both hands up to hold his stinging face, but Thomas caught his wrists and threw them back down at his sides like they were pieces of garbage. 

Alexander saw white, Thomas had hit him so hard, and he tried to blink, but tears welled up in his watering eyes and blurred his vision. Thomas hardly gave him a second before clamping his face in his hand, holding his little chin and tilting his head roughly up.   
“Look me in the eyes when I’m talking to you.” He barked, and Alex whimpered, following the order with no lack of struggle. Thomas seethed down at him, black eyes darting all over his face as if he was deciding exactly what to do with his new plaything. 

“You will not speak unless spoken to. Understand?” he spat, still holding his chin as he drew back and smacked him again with the other hand, same cheek so that it was raw and stinging. Alex wailed pitifully again, clamping his hands over Thomas’s wrist and trying to sink in his nails, fingernails scraping uselessly across his skin. Thomas curled a lip sneering down in disgust at the sniper. 

“And for fuck’s sake stop crying like a fucking two-year-old or I’ll treat you like one.” He spat in contempt, tearing his hand away from Alex’s face brutally. The man twisted on top of Alexander, tan abs flexing hotly as he opened the cabinet to the right. Chains clinked within, knocking against the wooden door. 

“I’m not crying, asshole. My eyes are watering, there’s a difference.” Alexander scoffed indignantly, justifying his state as he rubbed a sleeved palm over his face, drying his tears with what may or may not have been a sniffle. 

“Yeah, yeah, your eyes are sweaty. Bullshit.” Thomas belittled and shamed him cruelly, lifting something off a hook, “Shut the fuck up.”  
He bought the item forward so Alexander could see it, twirling it in his hand. The boy craned his neck, wanting to prop up with a pillow but he had this little feeling that Thomas wouldn’t allow that. The metal glinted in the light, the shiny black leather looked extremely expensive. It swung gently and a metal buckle clinked. 

Alex’s chest fluttered against his sweatshirt, thudding when he realized what it was. Holy fucking God. His breathing hitched as his black pupils visibly dilated, sending a spurt of adrenaline through his chest. Thomas happened to be looking right into those hazel eyes when it happened, and he twitched a dark brow, lips parting into a smirk.   
“I saw that.”

Alex swallowed, pretty throat bouncing as he looked away.   
“Saw what?”  
“Alright, what did I just say about eye contact?” he growled, watching down on him as Alex slowly turned his head back, raising his eyes back to his new dom’s. Thomas nodded cooly.   
“Thought so. Your manners are abysmal, Hamilton. I don’t know who let them get this bad, but they clearly didn’t hit you hard enough. I’m fixing that little mistake.”  
“Today?”

Thomas inhaled and hummed deeply in his chest, shaking his head and fiddling with the collar in his hand. “Actually, you’re a lucky little fucker today, bitch.” he snarled, bringing the collar forth and slowly… slowly dragging the cold metal ring up the visible part of Alexander’s belly. He gasped, breaking right into a whimper as he squirmed pitifully, trying to wiggle away from the uncomfortable temperature. Thomas huffed a small laugh from his nose, loving the way he moved when he was struggling. 

“Because thanks to you, daddy’s feeling a little… impatient…” he purred, lifting the freezing ring from Alex’s skin to draw out a gasp, and bring it next up to his throat.   
“What do we say? For making me lose my patience.” Alex tilted his head up slightly to allow Thomas access, and swallowed against the fingers brushing hair away from his neck. The feeling of Thomas’s fingertips on his sensitive throat made him want to shiver, and he held one down desperately. 

“You made me wait for this too, man.” he scowled as he arched his neck, feeling Thomas’s fingers work diligently on the buckle, fitting it snugly around the boy’s small throat, “I apologize, you apologize.”

As soon as he was finished, Thomas inhaled a deep, relaxed breath, trailing his fingers back around to the front. He gazed down softly into Alexander’s eyes and gave the ring at the front a little tug with a gentle laugh. Alexander squinted, brows flicking down for a moment. Too gentle. This was suspicious behavior. 

“Oh, Alexander, you want me to apologize?” he tutted sympathetically, tracing the pointer fingernail of each hand slowly up his jawline like Alex was a prized possession, meeting at his chin. He seemed to just be observing, taking in how the boy looked with a thick leather collar hung at his throat. Alex shrugged.  
“It’s only fair.”

He turned his gaze up and his heart swooped down into his stomach with an icy splash of adrenaline. He'd fucked up. 

Thomas’s eyes had darkened in a fraction of a second, his eyes stormy with wrath that SCARED Alexander. Alex opened his lips to try and say something, but all that came out was a tiny yelp as Thomas dived down, hair brushing Alexander’s face as he placed his lips right up next to the boy’s ear. Alex whimpered, eyes squeezing shut in fear of what Thomas was about to do to him and stayed still, perfectly still.   
“Thomas… be gentle…” he dared to whimper, forcing himself not to squirm. 

The larger man just exhaled deeply, hand slipping down from his jawbone to trail his nails down his throat. Alex breathed in short, sharp breaths, eyes straining down to see what Thomas was doing, but he could only rely on his sense of touch to feel where he was. His thumb and middle finger gently settled on either side of his throat, halting halfway down and resting like a doctor checking his glands. For a tense moment, he didn’t do anything. Alexander waited, heart thumping against Thomas’s chest. 

And then he pressed, pressure lancing pain up the boy’s throat.   
“Mmrg…!” he gargled, unable to make a whimper with this odd sort of restriction, so the noise was a throaty kind of sound. Thomas just grunted indifferently, brushing his lips against Alexander’s ear. 

“You think this is funny?” he whispered, voice still deep despite the soft tone. And just how SOFT he was speaking only added to the lethal danger, to the adrenaline. Alex jerked, gasping strainedly against the two small pressure points, eyes snapping open. Thomas just breathed hotly against his ear, rolling his abs slightly against the warm cock pressed between Alexander’s belly and his own, feeling how hard and desperate it was.

He felt it twitch between them, needy. A tiny bead of precum slicked onto his skin. 

“Please tell me right now that you apologise for being such an arrogant slut.” Thomas blinked cooly, still holding his steady fingers over the painful points and torturing the boy, “And I will make this quick.” 

“I...Hahhhh….” Alex shuddered, breath shaking as he struggled against the pain. He squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth.   
“I’m sorry.” he finally gasped, opening his gaping mouth to try and deal with the explosive agony. 

“For…?” Thomas prompted him calmly, unrelenting. Alex felt his cock squirt out another tiny droplet of precum and he released a whimper that could have been a sob, curling his knees up to squeeze Thomas’s ribcage and trying to bounce up a bit against Thomas’s abs. 

“For being… an arrogant slut.” he strained out, hating that Thomas was forcing him to be so obedient, but he needed that cock. SO badly, he was dying for it, slowly dying. He breathed rapidly against Thomas’s dangerous, powerful hand, sweat beginning to slick his neck, and WAITED. 

“Mm.” Thomas finally grunted with mild satisfaction. Adequate. He lifted his face up from beside Alexander’s and exhaled, releasing the pressure to rub deeply over the area with the same fingers. Alexander shuddered, his bunched-up muscles releasing and letting him fall deeper into the bed, sweating and ruined. 

“Fucking… fuck…” he panted deeply as Thomas rubbed over the spot, sitting between Alexander’s legs and trailing another hand down his soft little belly, palming it for a moment before gliding down between his legs.   
“You’re a mess, Alexander.” he rumbled, pressing his hand deeply against Alex’s ass and placing three fingers over his entrance. He only stayed there for a moment, observing how his powerful hand looked between Alexander’s cheeks before he rubbed viciously, not entering, just giving him friction on his tight ring of muscle. Alexander’s hips bucked, and he threw his head back into the pillows, moaning obscenely. 

“I don’t know how anyone can be afraid of you. You’re pathetic.” Thomas grumbled, rubbing harder to hear him moan like a little bitch. Alex’s mouth was open, gaping as his eyes rolled just a little bit.   
“Oh God… Oh GOD, just FUCK me.” Alexander heaved what sounded like a sob, but was actually just pure desperation coming forward so violently that he KEENED, so urgent to get something inside of him that he was lamenting. Thomas adjusted the hand on his throat so that his palm was clamped down over the collar now, pressing him down into the bed and holding himself up. Alex coughed, able to breath, but the leather tightened around his throat uncomfortably. 

Thomas used this extra leverage to open Alexander up, shoving three fingers deep inside him and flipping some sort of magical light switch in the sniper. Alex’s legs jerked involuntarily, jumping off the bed to smack back down on Thomas’s shoulders. He wailed, curling the sheets into his balled fists and continued to whine with every pump. 

Thomas rocked Alexander’s entire body every time he shoved back in, going five times rough before he picked up the pace, four rapid pumps a second so that Alexander could hardly feel his legs. Alexander didn’t even have to think to know this was the best fingering he had ever received in his lifetime.

“Grrrr! I’m ready, I’m READY!” Alex slammed his palms down onto the bed, pressing on Thomas’s shoulders so his back arched away from the sheets,   
“JESUS, Thomas!” he yelled, getting frustrated quickly. Thomas pulled his fingers out completely and dished Alexander a stinging smack across the outside of his thigh, making him squeal and wince. 

“You’re ready when I say you are, asshole.” he growled, “Fucking….” he screwed up his lips and spat under his breath, sitting up tall onto his knees so he was towering over Alexander. He grunted, leaning over and holding Alexander down by the throat as he rummaged through the already-opened cabinet for lube, knocking something to the floor before he found it. It was a black vibrating plug. 

When he finally found the lube, he popped it open with his thumb and hastily turned it over, shaking and squeezing some of the clear gel straight onto his cock. Alexander watched from below as his dom hissed a bit at the cool liquid, capping it with a click and setting it back in the cabinet before rocking back and forth on his knees, getting into position on the mattress. He bit his bottom lip, gripping the base of his cock and gave it a few firm strokes, hand and shaft glistening with lube. 

Alex had felt the size before, yes, but this was the first time he got a good look at what he had been working for these couple of days. His mouth started to foam and salivate the more he looked at it head, on. Thomas was hung like a pornstar, at LEAST nine inches of symmetrical equipment that he was working with. Sure enough, Alexander’s ass-intuition had been right, there was indeed a prominent vein running up the right side, thick and mouth-watering just like his smooth head and rest of the shaft. 

Thomas’s black eyes glinted, taking note of the ogling.  
“Quit your drooling; you look ridiculous. And get off my shoulders.” he spat harshly, not a hint of kindness in his voice as he knocked Alexander’s legs down with the hand not stroking his cock, obviously following his own plans. Alex just growled, annoyed watching him hog all of those inches to himself. 

“Gonna share that or should I just jerk off like a douchebag too?” Alexander scoffed, gesturing incredulously with his hands. Thomas’s eyes darkened once again, not touching Alexander or slowing down. The boy could only watch and fume in horny desperation as Thomas gripped himself tighter, doing an impossible-looking wrist twist with a combination of thumb rubbing over the head with each stroke. Alexander felt his own cock burn with jealousy, wanting that hand on it so BADLY. He could hear the lube slicking over his smooth cock dirtily with each stroke. 

“I don’t know, Alexander. With your gross lack of respect, maybe I should.” he growled, rubbing his thumb firmly against the bottom of the base, sweeping it up. He cocked his head, peering down on his little sub.   
“You’re right where I want you. I have no obligation to satisfy your disrespectful ass.” Despite his words, he let go of his cock and dug his fingers under Alexander’s thighs, lifting them off the bed.   
“Keep being a spoiled brat and I’ll lay you down with no stimulation and cum on that smug fucking face. How does that sound?” 

Alex grabbed the sheets, heart pounding as he was yanked backwards like a ragdoll towards Thomas. His back dragged against the sheets, pulling his sweatshirt up his chest so his belly was exposed. Flat and fluttering beautifully, smooth as vanilla cream. His sharply defined, almost on the verge of feminine hip bones curved against his skin. 

Thomas grunted, hooking Alexander's thighs up on his hips and sliding his hands down to get a firm grip on those hip bones, sinking his claws into the shallow skin and earning a muffled scream from Alexander as his clothed forearm flew to his mouth. Oh… so he was sensitive there, was he? Thomas thought with malicious delight, pressing his thumbnails into the inside of the hip bones and holding. Alex gasped into the fabric, biting down on it and shivering. Or was that a sob?

“Hands off, Alexander. I said hands off.” he snapped strictly, feeling Alex’s legs squirm and slowly kick against him as he rolled his arm away from his mouth reluctantly, wet bite marks pressed into the fabric. Thomas pressed the head of his cock to Alexander’s entrance, shuffling into place. He still held most of Alexander a good distance off the bed ground while he stood up on his knees. Just his upper shoulders and head remained on the sheets, deep green Gucci sweatshirt bunched up around his chest. The position exemplified their massive size and height difference, especially with the younger looking so cute still wearing his sweatshirt.

Thomas held his hips and sculpted butt firm in his brutal grip and expertly popped the tip in. Alex choked a shaky gasp, legs trembling on Thomas’s hips. He breathed, biting his lip to stave off brimming tears. He wanted it so BAD, and Thomas just wasn’t LETTING him. Thomas watched a tiny trickle of clear precum roll down his belly, seeping out helplessly from his untouched cock.   
“Mmm…” his whimper ended on a high tone, lip trembling between his teeth,   
“Goddamnit, Thomas, come ON.” he intended his tone to reflect his frustration, but instead, opening his mouth had just dissolved all his efforts to keep the crying in. Usually he lasted longer before the tears flowed, typically until the actual fucking started. 

“Why are you crying, stupid?” Thomas shamed him RAW, his tone so cold and cruel that it alone could make Alexander cry. The man curled his lip, twisting his hips a tiny degree so that his head was just screwing within Alexander’s rim rhythmically, stretching him wide without filling him more than half an inch. 

“I’m NOT.” Alexander insisted, slamming his palm frustratedly onto the bed, screaming the words between clenched teeth like a child having a tantrum. This caused the first tears to leak out of his eyes and into his pretty long hair splayed out on the stormy grey satin sheets. He heaved another frustrated sob as he knew Thomas was leering down on him and mocking him. Alexander could not have possibly been more aroused by the shame, the utter humiliation. Nobody---nobody had ever gotten him off and wrecked him like Thomas was. 

“Hey. Hey. I asked you a question; I expect an answer.” he squeezed his shapely ass so hard that the skin bruised beneath his fingers. Alex clenched his thighs around Thomas’s hips, curling his toes at the pain. His lips parted in a deep-throated moan that ended in a bratty whine. He was such a pain-slut, and Thomas knew it. 

“You call that an answer? Speak up, brat.” Thomas growled harshly, reaching down to land a crisp, flat-palmed smack on the side of Alexander’s wet face. Alex’s head rolled right back up, retaining some vigor, and Thomas slapped him again. 

“Explain to me why you’re crying like a little bitch, and I’ll consider fucking you.”  
“I want i-i-it…” Alexander choked out the wracking sob and stuttered on the vowel, his immediate outburst surprising Thomas, but not disappointing. The boy sniffled, gulping for breath and blinking out more tears.   
“I want you to FUCK me and you’re being a DICK.” he whined brattily. Old habits die hard, Thomas thought, but hopefully Alexander’s hubris never did, because boy, was punishing him the most erotic thing Thomas had experienced in his life. And imagining when they’d gotten this itch out of the way and Thomas could punish him with a clear head… the Virginian was already fantasizing about their next session when he could chain Alexander down and go full out on him in a way that random college freshman couldn’t handle, but oh could this teenager. 

Thomas dug his nails violently into Alexander’s hips, screwing up his lips and rolling his pelvis into Alexander. The sniper felt himself stretch out to the absolute max, Thomas’s searing cock finally twitching inside him and filling him like nothing else before. 

“YES! YES! FUCK.” Alexander clawed the sheets, whipping his head back with what was either a grimace or a delirious smile. His collar clinked at his throat, jingling beautifully as he swallowed against it. Thomas wanted to rig him up with more leather, but he was too impatient for that today. 

Thomas’s pitch eyes burned with a leer. “You’ll find, worthless whore, that I can be just as much of a ‘dick’ when I AM fucking you.” he snarled pushing Alexander’s hips away, almost completely off his cock, and then slamming back home, pulling him onto it and rolling his own hips.

His pelvis smacked against Alexander’s ass like the cracking of a whip, and Alexander’s sculpted ass jiggled at the impact. The boy roared with unabashed pleasure, flinging his arms over his head to latch onto the edge of the mattress, holding fast to it so that Thomas’s thrusts wouldn’t throw him headlong into the backboard. Hands behind his head, long hair flowing on the sheets, precum leaking into his navel as his own dick bounced on his belly, he was absolutely a sight to behold. 

“UGH…! UGH... ! UGH!”  
Thomas rolled back and pounded into Alexander three times, ROUGH. He didn’t settle into any smooth rhythm with the strokes, just nailed in, pulled out, nailed in again like Alexander was an overgrown fleshlight, making Alexander grunt noisily with each one, clenching around his length at the brutality.   
“You like that? Filthy little shit.” Thomas spat under his breath, releasing where he had been digging his thumbnails into Alexander to reveal swollen purple crescents. 

The boy gulped and exhaled at the same time, shocked at the pain of the release more than the pain of the hold. Thomas rubbed over them with the pad of his thumb, bringing back circulation until they throbbed and ached. Alexander was going wild, trying to move his ass in sync with Thomas’s, squeezing his dom’s hips with his thighs to roll into each thrust. His eyes were clenched shut and his teeth were bared, foaming at the corners. Thomas ignited to see him so animalistic, so needy for every single inch of his cock. 

“Greedy are we?” Thomas finally stopped slamming him in uneven hammers, and pressed the sub’s warm pelvis firmly to his own instead, taking all the thrusting upon himself to do. He knew how to do his job. And well. Alexander just WEPT, completely ruined from the extended foreplay and now the stimulation of Thomas’s head lighting his prostate on absolute fire. 

“Mo-o-o-ore… Mo-o-re Thomas.” Alexander begged through the sobs, sniffling and lifting his hands blindly and haphazardly to clamber and claw at Thomas’s wrists. The dom reached under Alexander more with a grunt, linking both hands under Alexander’s lower back just above his ass and pulling it up, fucking him harder and faster. Alexander screamed at the new angle that bent him like a pretzel and struck his prostate, sending waves of pleasure reverberating violently through his body with each one. Holy SHIT he was flexible, back arched to an impossible degree. 

“Begging for more already. We just started and you look like you want to cum.”  
“Th...Thomas…” Alex’s voice was wavering with urgency.  
“Nope.” Thomas grunted with pursed lips and little head shake, spreading his knees a degree more to fuck Alex stupid, nailing him with a violence that shouldn’t even be named. Alex’s entire body was bouncing on the bed with the brutality, his eyes rolling back as Thomas fucked him silly. 

“God. God. God. God. God.” he whined, high pitched and airy before heaving in another shaky breath and releasing it as a body wracking sob, only adding to the tossing he was getting by Thomas.   
“Nope,” Thomas just repeated, ignoring his obvious display of desperation, “Don’t do it. You cum and you’re in big trouble, don’t even think about it.”  
But what else could Alexander possibly think about? So full, so stretched… his hips hitched. He sobbed, and they hitched helplessly again, more violently this time. 

“I’m! I’m gonna!” He gasped, mouth open like a fish out of water. Thomas felt the boy’s feet curl against the back of his legs, pressing against his hamstrings as his thighs began to tremble and vibrate up on his hips. 

“Full sentences, you’re not two.” Thomas spat, pulling his back up higher on his hips so that he was nailing his prostate now, curling the boy far off the bed to fuck him like an object. He looked so pretty, all stretched out like that, his belly exposed and fluttering, his defined ribs heaving against his lean body. His perfect little nipples were hidden by the bunched up sweatshirt, but Thomas could worry about those later; he had another problem on his hands. 

Alex’s breath and hips hitched at the same time again, positively trembling. The collar jingled as he got wrecked, bouncing and slamming on the bed with each thrust, head craning forward and chin on his chest despite his need to throw it back and cum all over himself. 

“I’m gonna CUM, oh fuck I’m gonna do it, Thomas, PLEASE, oh God, Jesus fuck.” he sputtered all in the same breath, head falling to the side as his hips failed to meet Thomas’s pace anymore. He curled his toes against the back of Thomas’s legs, signalling best he could that he was close. It was amazing how he could find his climax with only prostate stimulation, Thomas hadn’t touched him at all. His cock was so pretty slapping against his belly, it was so red and swollen from days of foreplay with no release.

Thomas continued to pound him, cock sliding rapidly inside his tight, slick walls noisily as he reached out with one hand, taking Alexander’s shaft in his palm and not stroking it at all, just holding it. 

“DADDY!” Alex moaned like a girl, bucking his hips ferociously into the hand. Thomas wasn’t going to stroke him, no. The man was too selfish and high-strung to do that for Alex; he had something else in mind.   
“What did you call me?” Thomas growled between concentrated gritted teeth, sweat beading on his back as he worked his hips feverishly. He wanted to hear the boy say it again. Alexander melted, absolutely melted into a fucking disaster. 

“Daddy, you’re my daddy, you’re my...my....” his breath caught as he hiccuped, ass tensing around Thomas’s length, mouth falling open. 

“Cum, stupid bitch.” Thomas snarled with a curled lip, holding Alexander’s cock just above his belly. Before the words were even completely out of his mouth, the boy’s eyes rolled back and squeezed shut, his legs clenched, and a scream so desperate it shredded his throat tore through him. 

His entire body convulsed violently, as his hands shot forward, both clawing madly for Thomas’s wrist and latching on when he cummed with so much power it was painful, spurting out ribbon after ribbon right down onto his own face, Thomas made sure of that.   
“Ah! Ah! THOMAS!”   
The boy shivered, brutally, shaking as another wave tore him apart and a final squirt of cum landed on his own pink tongue that he had stuck out, embellishing it with white substance. 

“Dirty slut.” Thomas spat, feeling his own cock swell at the sight of Alexander degraded and filthy. Thomas let go of Alexander’s cock and his back in one rough motion and placed a hand in the middle of his belly. With screwed up lips, he shoved him down to the bed, holding him down so he couldn’t bounce or squirm away. 

The boy was already falling apart, legs kicking through his extended orgasm, nails ripping at the sheets with clenched fist when he roared again, head snapping back and slamming into the headboard when Thomas pulled out his entire length at once. 

Thomas only walked forward one step on his knees, caps sinking into the mattress as he stroked himself at a neck-breaking pace, four strokes a second.   
“Open your mouth.” he strained through a clenched jaw, striking his hand from Alexander’s belly up to his face and curling around the very top of his throat. He broke his thumb roughly past Alexander’s lips, yanking his jaw open and holding it so as he bit his bottom lip, squeezed his eyes shut, and shot his release straight into Alexander’s mouth. 

Alex wrapped his thighs around the back of Thomas’s, still clumsy, cum-dum and fucked-stupid as he whimpered and sobbed, groping his hands blindly to hold onto something, anything that was still real to coax him through this coma-inducing orgasm. 

“Fuck…” Thomas spat dirtily, opening his eyes to see Alexander pushing his hand away from his own cock, trying weakly and whimpering to do it himself. The Virginian almost felt bad for him, so helpless and leaking tears, so he’d let him have his way for a little reward. Thomas grunted and grabbed Alex’s wrist, controlling him as his little fingers curled around his cock, jerking it off into his mouth for the last powerful cumshot. Alex’s eyes were closed but he flinched as it landed on his tongue, mixing with the rest of the cum. 

“Swallow.” Thomas grumbled, releasing his thumb from his mouth and curling his hand around his collared throat instead. Alex whined, fanning his legs weakly on the bed as he tried to cope with the final reverberations of pleasure. Thomas climbed on top of him, abs brushing his oversensitive cock as he laid down with a huff. 

Alexander’s young face was a sight to behold, all adorned with sticky white liquid. His hazel eyes were still closed, eyes twitching beneath his lids as Thomas held his throat and used the other hand to push still-hot cum into his mouth with the pad of his thumb. 

Alex sputtered, swallowing and crying at the same time. If he wasn't hot, he’d just be a mess, but luckily he was a hot mess as the tears rolled into his hair and disappeared.   
“Mmmh… Mmph…” he whimpered around Thomas’s thumb, struggling to swallow all the cum, but God did he love the salty tang on his tongue, vaguely aware that Thomas was feeding it to him. THOMAS JEFFERSON had cummed in his mouth and now he was gulping it down like his last meal. 

When his face was clean, they both felt the post-orgasm exhaustion weight their bodies down, a sign of how frustrated they had truly been for those couple of days.   
"I hate you..." Alex breathed almost inaudibly against Thomas's face as the man pinned his hair down flat to the bed and licked into his mouth, spit slicking against each other's with obscene wet pops. Thomas could taste cum in his mouth, but he was too exhausted to care. Alex slowly opened and closed his mouth, lapping at Thomas's tongue. If he thought THAT was intense... he had no idea what Thomas Jefferson had in store. 

But what he did know as his mind slowly crawled back to him, thoughts slowly seeping back in as Thomas kissed him filthily, was that this mission just got a whole lot more interesting...


	11. Hooked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone is staying healthy and safe! I love you all and thank you so much for all of the support and love! <3 😊

“Mmm…” Alexander hummed into Thomas’s mouth, swirling his tongue around his senior’s three times slow. They’d only been making out for thirty seconds after they’d finished, sweaty and exhausted on Thomas’s bed. Thomas raked the flat of his tongue hotly across the roof of Alexander’s mouth, drawing another soft, low moan before prematurely pulling away. 

The man exhaled, lifting his face without looking at Alexander and rolled off of him onto his back in the sheets with a huff. Alex fluttered his eyes open and furrowed his brows, but didn’t say anything. He was in too good of a mood to care if Thomas deprived him of tongue privileges even if he felt a bit shortchanged; he had him right where he wanted him. Still a bit disappointing. 

Instead, Alex stayed on his back and drifted his still-trembling hands up to the hem of his sweatshirt to wiggle himself and pull it down from his chest. When he had finished, he carefully folded his hands on top of his belly and fell quiet. Thomas was just laying a few inches away on his back, not touching him and staring up at the ceiling just the same. 

Time ticked on for a few minutes as they both slowly comprehended what the hell had just happened between the fight and where they had wound up now. Only half an hour and… THIS. As Alex lay there in Thomas Jefferson’s bed in a more-or-less puddle of sweat he felt a deep sort of satisfaction wash over him, indeed, soothing him. A coy little smile settled lightly on his face as he exhaled deeply; he’d done a good job, if he did say so himself. 

Thomas’s raven eyes shifted to give the boy a sideways glance and watch him as his little fingers fiddled with the tip of his sweatshirt string and twirled it, too upbeat to not be suspicious. Thomas’s brows furrowed. 

“‘S wrong with you?” he scoffed rudely as the kid chewed on the string like he always did, turning it over and over in his mouth. Alexander grinned around the fabric, shrugging with a head tilt. 

“Nothing.” he stared down at his belly, noting the white stain, “You got cum on my Gucci sweatshirt.”. The Virginian craned a bit to get a look, and sure enough a line of semen decorate the deep green of the designer hoodie. Thomas rolled his eyes with an exhausted head shake, returning his gaze to the ceiling.    
  
“ _You_ got cum on your Gucci sweatshirt.” he grumbled.    
“You aimed it at me.”   
“You were basically upside-down anyway. I don’t wanna hear it.”    
“Alright. Okay.” Alex held up his hands innocently, giving a wide eyed “Jesus…” look to the roof. Another silence ensued before Alexander got bored and decided to break it this time. The boy huffed a stiff sigh and leaned forward, grimacing as he struggled to sit up. Thomas turned his gaze to him once more, blinking and enormously unimpressed. 

  
“Well.” he slapped his palms to his knees, “As diverting as this conversation is, I’m gonna go wash my face.” he winced, slowly pulling one leg out of bed followed by the other. Thomas couldn’t help the slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth while he nonchalantly spectated the struggle. 

“Alright there?” he propped his head up on his elbow trying not to look at Alexander’s shapely ass sliding off the bed, sweatshirt falling down over it.    
“Great. Never better.” Alex spoke cheerily between clenched teeth as he finally stood barefoot on the carpeted floor and lurched forward, shocked at how sore and weak he was. His cheeks burned, knowing Thomas was watching with great amusement as he heavily limped to the bathroom, arms out in front of him in case he tripped. 

“You sure?” He hummed, not caring in the slightest other than to mock him. 

  
“I’m fine. Thomas. But thank you for your concern, real sweet of you.” he smiled over his shoulder with a sweetly sarcastic nose-wrinkle and disappeared into the bathroom. The sound of water running signaled that he’d made it to the sink without killing himself. Hallelujah for him. 

Thomas turned his attention back to himself, sighing deeply and rubbing both hands over his face. To clear his head. Clouds drifted overhead in the domed bedroom ceiling, and he could already feel something… uneasy settling in his gut, waiting patiently to be noticed, tapping its finger on the door of Thoma’s mind. The driver ignored it, reaching to his nightstand for a glass of water. He hadn’t realized how thirsty he had gotten while rearranging that brat’s guts. 

But the feeling was still there once he’d washed down an entire glass. Thomas grumbled, swinging out of bed far more gracefully than Alexander to collect his clothes, not bothering with Alex’s shoes. He could take care of that. He bent over and gathered everything to dump in the laundry in his closet and throw on boxer briefs and sweatpants. Lazy seemed like the way to go tonight, because why the fuck not--everything else of the day was wacked-up crazy so might as well. 

Alexander finally limped back out of the bathroom, hair damp about his face and still swathed in that sweatshirt. He hobbled up to the bed to see Thomas scrolling through his phone, reclined against the pillow, shirtless, in very… revealing black sweatpants with the golden letters VERSACE up the side. He had one leg bent, so Alex could see that outline as clear as day and couldn’t help but smirk in triumph. Yeah, he thought. That package was alllll his now. 

Thomas didn’t even look up or acknowledge the boy as he scrambled into the sheets, grimacing and making small grunts of pain until he finally flopped down on his back with an exhausted sigh, deflating like a balloon. He let his head fall over to the side, hazel eyes gazing across at Thomas.    
  
“So.” he began watching Thoams’s eyes dart over the screen, “Round two?”    
Thomas didn’t even respond, texting with James. He looked so hot when he was casual, one leg propped up and showing his equipment, almost as hot as he did in a suit or tuxedo which just promoted Alexander’s idea to go another round and drain themselves of all sexual tension that was leftover. 

“Earth to Thomas.” Alex persisted impatiently.    
“No, we’re not going for round two, the fuck?” He finally scoffed, still not looking at him as his thumbs tapped on his screen. Alex managed to roll stiffly onto his side, his whole body facing Thomas now. 

“I’m nineteen. I have a recovery time of about five minutes, and I’m horny again. Come on, I’ll be quick.” he dug the cold ball of his foot under Thomas’s calf, poking him annoyingly.    
“And I have the patience of about five minutes, so get the hell out of my bed.” Thomas kicked his foot away and rolled over so his back was facing Alexander, obviously in a bad mood. 

Alex’s brows swooped down, more curious than annoyed at this point; his capacity to be annoyed with Thomas had dramatically dipped as soon as he’d gotten what he wanted, and now he wanted nothing more than to mess with his new… fuck buddy. 

He shrugged indifferently, sweeping his hand over the sheets at his side in search of his phone. He groped around, eventually finding it in the pillows above his head and reeled it in with a sniff. Thomas gave him a slow sideways glance and turned his head and watched as the kid just started scrolling like he owned the place. 

“Can you go do something else? Maybe some coloring books or bathe with a toaster?” He sneered, but Alex just barked out a high laugh, amused. 

“Actually I had something else in mind, but thank you for the offer.” The teenager just returned to his phone without providing any more information. For a few silent moments, there was only the movement of Alex’s thumbs on the screen and that smug little smirk. He’d let Thomas come and get it if he wanted it, because the little conversation he had in mind should be completely guided by himself and provoked by Thomas. He was a little shit, but unfortunately for Thomas, he was an intelligent one. Very intelligent. 

Thomas seemed to ignore his humor, focused on his first statement. 

“Something else in mind?” He finally drawled, curiosity getting the best of him.   
Alex nodded, trying not to smirk at the question he was waiting to hear, and clicking off his phone. He set it down, pushing up to sitting position with a palm and a huff, and wiggled his hips in the sheets. Thomas watched his every move while the boy crossed his arms to grab the hem of his sweatshirt and pull it off over his head. His pretty belly and chest were revealed as he was completely bare now, just sitting in the sheets with the same confidence as if he was fully clothed.

Thomas blinked in mild surprise and couldn’t help the mouth-watering even if he wanted to; it had become completely involuntary. Those elegantly curved ribs, collarbones defined like crowns of his shoulders, perfect little brown nipples, and such a smooth belly that he wanted to trail purple and black hickeys across, blemish it and mark it, ruin it as his own. Alex tossed his hair back, a little tousled and staticky now as he dropped the sweatshirt to the floor. Thomas just watched him, waiting skeptically to figure out what the hell he thought he was doing. 

“If you think you’ve behaved well enough for a second round, you are _sorely_ mistaken, pal.” Thomas guessed.

“No, no, we are on the same page there, Jefferson.” Alex dipped his head almost respectfully, raising his hazel eyes back up before anything else. Huh. 

Thomas tilted his chin up just the slightest degree, approving of the manners, and therefore awaiting his next words with a tugging of cynicism, distrusting him. The boy’s face cracked into a sweet smile. 

“Although I see you eyeing my body like you want to pump me full of jizz, I know you won’t fuck me again.”   
So another game of chess, was it? 

“And how do you know that?” Thomas drawled boredly, propping his head up on his fist whilst he lay on his side. They couldn’t help it, these two: falling back into the same pattern of dancing intellectual circles around one another, hypotheticals and riddles. It was more than a dance; it was their nature. Alexander blinked with those long lashes and trailed the hands on his knees slowly up his thighs, watching Thomas’s attention flicker down to them. His lips twitched into a parted smirk. 

  
“You’re trying to prove a point to yourself. Which I understand.” Alex shrugged nonchalantly, hypnotizing Thomas with his hands, trailing up and down his own shapely little thighs, coming high up his pelvis. Something flickered in Thomas’s lethal stare. At Alex’s hands on his own body. 

  
“And what point am I ‘trying to prove to myself’ exactly?” Thomas’s voice was tinted with a light sneer; however, he remained interested in the conversation, both curious about and fearing where it could lead. And he had to admit that watching Alexander brush his fingers up and down his legs was making him breathe just a little heavier, snatching his attention. The boy knew it, and he knew that he knew it. Alex closed his eyes with a modest little smile on his curly lips, running his hands up his inner thighs now in the same smooth motion with an almost blissful inhale. 

Thomas felt a little shot of dominant instinct lance through his chest. 

“You’re trying to prove that after one hit... you’re not already hooked on me like a shot of straight nicotine. Which you are.” Alex smiled down to his lap, closing his eyes and taking his pretty cock in his hand. An alarm in Thomas’s head went off, pulling his entire body to alertness. He stiffened, ears perking. 

“Don’t touch yourself...” he growled quietly while retaining his cool, even and firmly as a strict parent. Alexander finally found his eyes, curling his fingers around his shaft and gave it a single loose stroke. Thomas’s face fell in slow shock. 

“You’re trying to prove that you’re not addicted to me like a serial killer on bath salts, Jefferson.”    
“I find that a little ironic coming from a serial killer.” Thomas snarled slowly, curling his lip and gradually rising into a sitting position as well, no sudden movements. There was an uneasy, heavy feeling pulling at his gut that told him that he did not like being lower than Alexander. 

Alex gently settled his cock back in his lap, looking over at Thomas with a straight face as he tossed his hair back once again, regarding him up and down for a few moments. Thomas didn’t move as Alexander sized him up, wheels turning, gears grinding in that intelligent head of his. And then his mood changed on a dime, and he moved on the bed. Thomas’s eyes flickered up and down over his boy, monitoring him as he lowered himself down to the bed with a rustling of sheets. He slid his body down so that he was laying on his belly with a deep sigh. He folded his arms in front of him, and posted his head on them, resting like a nude model. 

  
Thomas had no choice but to stare as Alex put himself on display with no explanation. Those sharp shoulder blades rising and falling with his breath, the smooth, deep arched dip of his back before curving up into his firm little ass. Alexander watched Thomas, how his black gaze flickered as he viewed the bruises on his hips and ass, small nickel-sized dots of rosewood and wine just beginning to turn indigo. 

“Massage me while you talk, Jefferson. It saves time.” He slurred muffledly around his arm that he was resting on, his sleek hair spilling like honey down onto the sheets. Thomas couldn’t see his mouth, just his rusty bronze eyes peering over at him. 

“I’m done talking to you.” Thomas’s guard was up, and he shook his head disgustedly--at himself--and slid out of bed, Versace sweatpants rubbing on the sheets as his feet hit the floor. 

“Ah, ah ah.” Alexander sang melodically, tilting his face up so his voice could be heard, “This counts as my aftercare, driver-boy.” he purred, but that golden flicker of danger darted through his eyes, triggering Thomas’s heart to skip a beat. He abruptly recalled that part of their agreement with a swooping stomach and halted in place, stuck. He had no choice, the contract was a contract. 

“Pretty please with a cherry on top?” Alex hummed, resting his head back on his arms and pouting, giving Thomas the puppy-dog eyes. It would work on anyone else who didn’t know the boy. Who didn’t know his tendencies. 

“Don’t give me that shit.” Thomas sneered, changing direction and sauntering up to his tall cabinet, pulling it ajar without looking at his sniper. Alex kept his eyes open, watching Thomas’s muscles ripple with each step, that pearly white scar glistening in the light below his left collarbone. Such a pity on a body so beautiful, Alex thought, such a pity. But he had something else to distract him now. 

Thomas reached up to the top shelf of the cabinet, paused his hand as if in indecision, and then pulled down a bottle from the selection. Alex stayed quiet, holding his tongue of all the snarky remarks he wanted to be making. Behave, he told himself. If he wanted to have a pleasant conversation, behave. Thomas shook up the bottle as he walked around the foot of the bed in a firm motion, slowly making his way towards Alexander’s side. 

  
“You know, I didn’t appreciate your little comment on me being a serial killer.” Alex began conversationally with a light note of offense in his arrogant voie. Thomas screwed the cap off once he was at Alexander’s side, sniffing casually and tossing it down onto the nightstand. The boy flipped his head over so that he was facing him, observing lightly as he turned the bottle over and squeezed a puddle of pale, honey-colored oil onto his palm. It wasn’t thick, and he rubbed it between both palms with a skillful, doctor-like precision that made Alex shiver. Nothing got him off more than ice-cold professionality. 

Alex persisted when Thomas didn't answer his statement, “I’ll have you know that I’m nothing of the sort.” he blinked curtly, eyes following Thomas as the man lifted a knee onto the bed, pressing a deep indent in the mattress as he swung up with a huff. 

  
“I have no idea how you can lie to yourself like that and still sleep at night.” Thomas grumbled with a harshness so raw it took Alexander aback. Wow. He should have been more prepared for that backlash considering the topic of discussion, he realized instantly, but he forced himself to shake it off. He had a point to prove, and he pushed himself past it. Thomas stood up on his knees, one on either side of Alexander’s legs. The boy frowned casually with a shrug.

“Oh you know. Fan on, coupla blankets. Naked so you can come and kiss my ass.” 

To his surprise, Thomas puffed a short laugh of amusement, tossing his hair. Alex craned to give Thomas a sideways glance over his shoulder. The man rolled his wrists out and eyed Alex up and down, deciding where to begin. 

“All fifty vertebrae, if you’re looking where to start.” Thomas’s eyes locked with his for a moment, unsmiling. Thomas looked back down to the boy’s curvy back, so smooth and seamless. He wondered if the kid waxed or if he truly just didn’t grow body hair, but now was not the time to ask. He could sense that they were at the beginning of the dangerous tango they took part in, just waiting for the other to take the wrong step and come crashing down right onto the other's dagger. 

Thomas cleared his throat professionally, placing his hands on Alexander’s hips and pressing him down so his back arched a bit against the mattress. The boy hissed at the chilliness, but it felt so good--those palms all slicked up and oily. Especially with Thomas Jefferson behind his bare ass, perfectly able to take him at any time he pleased. 

“The human spine consists of thirty-three vertebrae. I don’t know where the hell you pulled ‘fifty’ out of.” Thomas tried not to sneer. 

“Right out of your mom’s ass...” Alex grumbled childishly to himself, but Thomas was already focused. Alexander closed his eyes with a smug smirk, listening to that deep southern twang above him.

“When we engaged in intercourse, I most likely extended the lumbar portion of your presacral vertebrae.” he continued in a drawling tone that was somehow getting Alexander hot. And quickly, shit. Ice cold professionality, he thought. Nothing got him off more than ice hold professionality. 

The man trailed an oily finger down the lower half of his back, right on the bones, drawing a line. He could only imagine Thomas doing this on a metal table, and he had to stop himself then and there before he got carried away with himself. 

“Here,” he enunciated, pressing both thumbs lightly five different times onto his back, “Are the five between the thorax and the sacrum,” he tapped lightly and then placed both palms on either side of his spine, “that concave posteriorly.” He sniffed with a light cough, rubbing his hands together again and applying oil before placing both palms down on Alexander’s lumbar. The boy’s hips twitched down slightly at the cool shock, and he settled himself as Thomas pressed deeply, gliding his palms up Alex’s back. They slid well on the oil and Alexander released a deep, surprised sigh, melting into the sheets.

Wow… the man knew how to work his hands, alright. Alex knew that from before with the expert fingering he’d gotten, but this only exemplified it. 

  
“But, Hamilton, I’m more interested in what you said earlier.” Thomas rumbled now that he had Alexander relaxed, catching him in a weak spot.   
“For God’s sake…” Alex breathed, trying not to shiver in delight as Thomas’s hands curled over his shoulders, pressing deeply and sweeping his thumbs under his shoulder blades, “Call me Allie. I can hear you trying not to; it’s okay.” he spoke cunningly.    
Thomas’s thumbs gave him just a bit too more pressure than was warranted, and Alex felt his heart skip a beat. It was a very… very light warning, he realized. Very subtle. 

“I said…” Thomas spoke cooly, rubbing his palms heavily up and down the back of Alexander’s shoulders, “To elaborate on your previous statement, Hamilton.” he enunciated clearly on his surname to press his point. Alex sighed, holding down shudders once again whilst Thomas’s big, warm hands slid around his sides, spreading the oil as he glided up and down his ribcage that was fluttering in his hands. He felt so small beneath that big, pressing touch, rubbing smoothly up and down his ribs with sliding palms. 

Alex bit his lip, wanting to do so much more than hold his tongue and lay still, but he kept his head down. 

“I’m not a serial killer. Never have been, never will be.” Thomas’s hands drifted down, cupping the curve of his soft waist and tracing under him to map his hip bones. 

“How…” Thomas rumbled, finding the bruise on either side with his middle fingers and pressing gently, knowing just the light pressure to apply to make it hurt. Alexander bit his lip, **hard** , suppressing a whine, “is that possibly true?” he finished his sentence, carefully maintaining the same gentle pressure on the bruises.    
  


“Because it’s obvious in context, Agent Jefferson.” Alex shrugged, nuzzling into his arms with a contented sigh. He rather liked Thomas feeling him up like this. The sweet and salty mix of pain and pleasure. 

“Serial: relating to series without specific motives. I’m not a serial killer, Jefferson, I have an occupation to get done. That’s like saying you’re a felon for the vehicles you hijack.” he purred, his voice far too sweet and calm not to be absolutely sick. 

“Then you’re a murderer. And a traitor. What’s your point?” Thomas inquired cooly, working his thumbs on either side of Alexander’s spine and loosening the tissue. The boy rocked with the movements, relishing the touch. 

“Ah, wrong again. But my point isn’t about me, now is it?” he hummed, tossing his hair off his neck and revealing those strange black markings that Thomas had noted earlier in the office, “it’s about you.” he cast a glance over his shoulder that Thomas returned, dark eyes emotionless. 

The man rhythmically rubbed his thumbs over Alexander’s hips, staring at him. That golden glean in the boy’s eye meant exactly what he knew it did. Danger. He was pulling him into mind games, and Thomas couldn’t pull himself out, not when Alexander had already taken him so far into this one. His curiosity was simultaneously the bane of his existence, and the joy of Alexander. He decided to put the foot down. 

“Alexander, cut the bullshit. I’m sick of it. You think I don’t know when you’re trying to get in my head?” he snarled, gliding his palms heavily up Alexander’s back, the cool oil slicking their warm skin together a little rougher than was necessary, just a little threat to keep things real. Alexander chuckled muffledly beneath him, lightly bouncing his hand, and Thomas tried not to freeze, tried not to show that in his own chest his heart was thrumming with adrenaline. 

  
“No, Thomas, I don’t think you do.” 

“And why is that?” Thomas snarled, digging his knuckles now between Alexander’s shoulder blades into the stiff muscle. He could feel the boy tense immediately beneath him, desperately trying not to cry out at the sudden pain. 

“Like I said earlier only for you to avoid the subject.” Alex strained, jaw clenched as he suddenly whipped his legs up from the bed and smacked them to Thomas’s bare back. The Virginian’s heart seared with a shot of pure adrenaline, unsuspecting of the sudden movement and lost his balance. A hurricane of movement swept the both of them up. As he crashed down to all fours above Alex, the sniper twisted on the sheets so that he was on his back when Thomas’s hands collided with the mattress on either side of his head, bouncing them. 

The kid grunted, sitting up just as Thomas tried to do the same, both snarling as Alex clamped his hands on Thomas’s shoulders and wrenched them both sideways with a growl. 

Alex panted through the chaos, scrambling on top when he had taken the larger man down to the sheets, but Thomas was ready; as soon as Alexander’s smiling face appeared above his own, he struck out his hands, catching Alexander’s throat and curling around it with full control. 

And then everything fell still. For a moment after the storm, both were unmoving as the dust settled, muscles tense and panting. The boy’s throat fluttered against Thomas’s warm hands, as he panted between shining, grinning teeth. Thomas’s heart was hammering faster than a freight train, and they were both completely silent. A stalemate.

Thomas slowly shook his head, shadowy eyes growing grimmer with the second. His gaze was dripping with something beyond warning--a kind of hatred that said Alex had finally pushed his luck over the edge. Alexander just retained his grin. 

“Not in your head, you say?” Thomas felt a little poking sensation on his lower belly, and craned his neck, veins popping to see that Alexander was slowly walking two fingers up his abdomen. Thomas’s black eyes shot back to the boy’s hazelnut ones, shaking his head slowly again. 

“Move again and I’ll kill you.” he spat under his breath, voice almost wavering with how genuine he sounded. Hands around Alexander’s throat, complete control over his movements--he absolutely had it within his power to snap his neck right there and murder him. He’d fucking do it if he wanted to, yet something held him back. Alex just chuckled, still walking those two fingers creepily, eerily up his chest. When he got to his heart, he stopped. 

  
Thomas watched his every move, not missing a single trick. He would do it. He _could_ do it. Alex just grinned softly, laying his little hand flat over Thomas’s warm, bare chest. Thomas’s eyes darted from his hand to his face, uneasy to say the very least, pure adrenaline pumping in his veins. 

  
“Yeah. Heart’s going pretty fast for someone who’s not afraid.” the kid shrugged coyly like he could be wrong, drawing the hand away to set it on the soft satin sheets. 

“You are. A sociopath.” Thomas breathed clearly, completely believing himself, “Are you serious right now? What is fucking wrong with you? Why are you like this?” He spat, getting angry, getting afraid. The more he spoke… the more Alexander’s grin deepened with each of his words… nobody could deny that Thomas could only hold the physical power in this moment. Alexander only shrugged casually again like they were engaging in weather-talk. 

“If you want me to answer that, I can’t say you didn’t help, Jefferson.” he trailed a fingertip between Thomas’s pecs, just feeling his hot skin against his sensitive pad. He flickered his eyes up to Thomas with a twitched brow, and then back to his finger.

“Putting me in that chair.” he shook his head and hissed an inhale between clenched teeth, “Bad move on your part. Bad move. You know, it’s not good for teenagers to sit that long, I think.” he settled in a bit, relishing in the sensation of Thomas’s sweatpants brushing on his bare cock, especially since he could feel Thomas’s below his own. And their warm, bare bellies breathing against one another’s, skin to skin. 

“Stop talking.” Thomas drawled cooly with a deep blink, voice retaining its control as long as he had those dangerously lethal hands curled around the little fucker’s neck. Alex snickered again, still brushing lightly up and down Thomas’s chest with a single finger. 

  
“You know what got me crazy? Wasn’t actually even the muzzle or anything. It was actually the security.” Thomas’s brows twitched down, puzzled, but Alexander went on. The pattern on his chest changed, switching to a tiny circle being traced between his pecs. Alex’s long hair fell down over his ears, pretty and wavy since it was still damp. If the boy wasn’t so goddamn _pretty_ , Thomas would have no problem terminating him. If the boy didn’t have such a calm demeanor in his supposed insanity, such intellect and poise...

“They turned it off when you came to say hello to me, of course, but in my cell there was this little imaginary circle around my seat.” Alex continued etching the circle on Thomas’s skin, just swirling that goddamn finger over and over again. 

“Little sensors in the floors all around it, and probably on the walls, but I wasn’t sure.” he shrugged, “And if I moved too much and crossed the line…” Alex trailed his finger off Thomas’s chest, lifting it daintily to press against his own middle finger. Thomas’s dark eyes followed his every move until Alex stuck up a thumb and curled his ring and pinky fingers against his palm. It clicked with a falling sensation in Thomas’s mind. Alex was making a sign of a gun.

  
“Cross the circle, and:” the boy smirked, pressing the two fingers to Thomas’s temple. They locked eyes. 

“Bang…” he whispered. 

That was the last straw for Thomas. The word wasn’t even out of Alex’s mouth before he screwed up his lips and spat something incoherent as he jolted forward. Alex could only manage wide eyes and a high, strangled yelp before Thomas had twisted him, wrenching them both to the side as his feet kicked at the covers and yanked them down messily. There was a chorus of grunts, panting, and rustling sheets as Thomas threw a leg over Alexander, slamming the kid up against the middle of the headboard so hard that it reverberated behind him. His teeth rattled. 

Thomas stood up on his knees, but before he could make a move to smack Alexander’s dirty mouth, theirs were already smacked together in a scorching battle of tongues, ravaging each other’s mouth like it was their last meal. 

“Mmm!” Alexander made a surprised sound that was definitely half-moan. 

How had it turned so quickly, so quickly that neither was aware of who had dived in first? It seemed fucking impossible; neither experiencing an emotion so powerful and conflicting. Lust and hatred had never been so synonymous and so mind-boggling, putting them both in a movie-like state of cheesy euphoria. But it didn’t matter how unreal it felt as saliva dipped from Thomas’s mouth into Alexander’s, opening and closing wide and fast and so filthy it was unspeakable. Alex groaned so gravelly and animalisticly that it was a genuine growl, and he grappled at a part of Thomas to hold, anything. The boy ended up balling up and clawing the sides of Thomas’s Versace sweatpants in a heated moment of desperation. 

“You sick little **fuck**. Disgusting… **_bitch_**.” Thomas panted between hot licks, breaking away from Alex once to land a flat smack across his little face, the red mark of three fingers stinging across his pretty cheek as he brutally ravaged his mouth to stifle the sickening outcry of pain. Alex breathed hard against Thomas’s face in sharp pants, wounded and breathless from the blistering blow but _ignited_ like dry kindling. Thomas attacked Alexander’s long hair with his fingers, twisting and tangling them in the cool, damp locks and wrenching him against the headboard, banging his skull against it once and pinning him there so he had all the leverage in the world to shove his tongue down Alexander’s throat. Their chins pressed roughly together, noses smashed into one another’s cheeks. 

Alex moaned enthusiastically, sighing in hot, dirty breaths of lust as he clawed the sides of Thomas’s pants, finally blindly finding the waistband and jerking it towards him, needing Thomas _on_ him. 

  
“You wanted my point? Mmm… Here’s my motherfucking point, _daddy_.” Alex slurred heavily around Thomas’s wet tongue, which was nowhere near his own mouth. His words were dripping with so much filth, so much obscenity that Thomas couldn’t resist slamming his hips against Alex’s, banging his little body against the wood and grinding so hard with his dry, cotton sweatpants that it was painful for both of them. The friction was an agonizing punishment, but not unwelcome to the younger, who smiled into his dom’s mouth and squeezed his knees against the sides of Thomas’s legs in pained bliss. 

  
“Call me a sociopath… call me crazy… Kinda gets me hot, to be honest.” he whispered onto Thomas’s tongue, sure he could hear it. The sniper inhaled sharply, striking out his arms to Thomas’s shoulders and yanking him down. The boy licked hotly over Thomas’s ear and gnawed on the tip while smiling against it with a hot breath. 

“But _you_ don’t even know that you’re going crazy for a sociopath.” he whispered, letting that sink in for a moment with a soft grin, lips wet with Thomas’s saliva brushing over his ear. When he knew Thomas was struggling not to shiver, he started licking across his jawline to lick right back into Thomas’s mouth, “Your micro expressions tell the whollllle story. How rude of them.” he giggled charmingly. 

But Thomas was on top of it, taking control and dominating his mouth as his own once again, flipping the power viciously. 

“I…. Hate you…” Thomas grumbled, deep voice growling dangerously against Thomas’s chest, “You have no idea… how… _badly_... I’m going to hurt you.” Thomas panted, groping a hand down blindly in the overheated space between them to paw roughly at Alexander's cock, warm and already hard in his hand. Thomas shook his head firmly, trying to look down between them as he pressed his palm deeply against Alexander’s sensitive package until it hurt and he squirmed pitifully, whimpering. 

“If I could express in words how **_badly_** it’s going to hurt.” He shook his head, “Fucking God help you.” 

“Yeah....uh huh.” Alex, managed breathlessly between three rough, rhythmic sideways licks from his dom, “Prove my point; I love it. You’re addicted, Thomas. Look at yourself.” He laughed as Thomas took a step forward on his knees to press his body harder against Alex’s and raised his hand again. Alex instinctively flinched, but the submissive part of him squeezed his eyes shut, screwed up his face and braced himself, ready for the obliterating blow that he sort of knew he deserved for his filthy sass-mouth. Thomas wrenched up his lips and whipped Alex across the mouth this time, lashing him with scary precision across his lips. 

“Fuck…” Alex hissed, clenching his teeth and waited for a tense moment for the immediate pain to pass before he cracked his jaw against the raw stinging. He was so blinded by the tingling that he hardly acknowledged Thomas sucking with hollowed cheeks over the deep, dully aching hickey that he continued to darken. Alex released a completely involuntary guttural moan from down in his chest at the painful sucking sensation. Thomas exhaled, stepping forward on his knees, but instead of sinking down into soft mattress, he leaned onto something hard. 

“Ff--Shit!” he hissed, jerking his leg back up and breaking his mouth away from Alex’s warm neck with an abrupt pop. The boy gasped sharply, cool air stinging his lungs, and let his eyes flutter open in confusion like he didn’t know what planet he was on, moment completely shattered. He blinked against the light, bemused. 

  
“Hey. Breaking the flow a bit, dude.” His brows swooped down, annoyed at the sudden halt when he was so into it, but Thomas just backed up more, turning around and sweeping his hands over the sheets. 

“Bueller? Bueller?” Alex gave him a dirty look, scoffing in indignation. 

“Hey, shut up. Your phone just shattered my fucking kneecap, bitch.” Thomas spat. Alex’s breath still fluttered from the curtailed foreplay, heart pumping blood _not_ to his brain, to put it bluntly. 

“Well… where is it?”   
“I don’t fucking know; whaddya think I’m looking for? Tibet?”

An unexpected automated female voice rang out, making both agents jolt like they’d been electrocuted, Alex grappling the covers to pull over his erect, swollen cock eyes bulging. 

“Okay. Video calling Lafayette.”    
  


The world seemed to stop spinning on its axis with a jarring halt. In a moment of pure, raw, uncensored terror, the two slowly looked down at the glowing screen in the covers and their eyes expanded to the size of dinner plates. There was a countdown on the screen until it connected, and they both watched it go from ten to nine. At the same time, their heads whipped up to each other’s, lips parted in horror as they snapped out of their initial disbelief. 

“Shirts. Get shirts.” Alex scrambled, kicking the covers away from him frantically so they flew off in the air and ensnaredThomas. The man grunted, untangling himself in a frenzy of snarls. Alexander was already scurrying along the foot of the bed, kicking aside clothing messily until he found his Gucci sweatshirt and Thomas’s training shirt, bending over and snagging them with his heavy limp. Seven seconds left until they were going live with Lafayette. Perfect. This was just fucking fantastic. Alex chucked an article of clothing at Thomas, not even realizing that it was his green sweatshirt; he didn’t care, it was too critical right now. 

  
“This isn’t my fucking--”   
“Put it on, damnit!” Alex yelled, throwing Thomas’s black shirt over his body and tossing his hair like mane around his head to get it out of the back of the shirt. It smelled just like Thomas and hung to his knees. The powerful, overwhelmingly masculine scent of sweat and Yves Saint Laurent flooded his nose as he leapt back onto the bed, pillows flying everywhere. Four seconds. 

  
“Come here.” Thomas growled, grabbing the back of Alex’s shirt collar and yanking him to the foot of the bed so that in the background of the call would just be the wall and door, no clear evidence of a bedroom. But they might as well have not even tried, because the rest of them was… fairly obvious. Thomas never wore sweatshirts, and now he was swathed in the deep green designer hoodie that wasn’t his own, and smelled like Alexander’s “Sex on the Beach” cologne. And cum. Not a bad combo at all, but under the circumstances… 

“Hair. Do your hair.” Alex clipped, running his hands over his own tangled catastrophe, but Thomas had no time; he had the phone and they had one second left.    
“Let _me_ do the talking.” Thomas growled. Alex scoffed. 

“You won’t do shit---Lafs, hi!” Alex cut himself off with a kinder tone when the phone made the note of connection. There was shuffling and gunshots on the other end of the line, and Lafayette clearly took his cell out of his pocket because the darkness gave way to blinding light before Lafayette’s pretty face came into focus. His brows swooped down, confused and irritated. 

  
“Toma, Xander.” He states more than asked, “I am training; I was going to call you after. What is this?”   
“Yeah--uh…” Alex licked his lips, trying again to smooth down some hair and looked desperately over at Thomas for some help. The man just gave him a dark look and didn’t say a word. Alex’s blood spiked, and he wanted to hit him, but he didn’t have time to hate Thomas; he had to come up with something quickly. His head wasn’t where it was supposed to be after a vicious fucking and another ten minutes of foreplay. But he had already paused too long for Lafayette.

“Did you come to an agreement, garçons?” the man picked up with his usual heavy French accent, “I came back to the office and all I found was a disaster. Where were you?”   
Thomas’s heart plummeted into his stomach. Fuck. 

“Yeah, Thomas hit his knee on the bottom of the desk, you know, since he’s 6’5, and everything kind of went everywhere.” Alexander gained his composure, once again whipping up an elaborate alibi as he was so skilled at doing, “The cleaning lady came through and threw a hissy fit so we went back up to the apartment and we’re here now. Just wanted to call and let you know that’s where we went.”   
  


“Ah. Well.” Lafayette huffed, satisfied with the explanation and lifted his head at something else, “I said no handguns for the dill. Use the--yes, good.” Lafayette called a command and nodded. He turned his attention back to Thomas and Alexander, and this time he squinted, brows swooping down as he took in the details. Alexander’s heart thudded abruptly at the red flag. 

“Right, well, we’re gonna go--”   
“Mon Dieu, boys, what on earth have you been doing?” he inquired, blue eyes obviously sweeping over the mottly pair and digesting what he was seeing. Suddenly Alexander flinched when a heavy arm was thrown over his shoulders, dangling around his neck. The fabric rubbed painfully over his raw, plum-colored hickey, and he shot a vicious glance at Thomas, irked. 

“We--” he tried to respond.    
“We worked out here with my stuff. We felt bad for curtailing our previous session and thought it wise to continue for both team-building and respect for you.” Thomas rolled over the topic smoothly after cutting Alexander off, deep voice rumbling against Alex’s side. He felt good with Thomas’s arm over him, heavy and warm, but in front of Lafayette he felt like Thomas was putting them off as… brotherly, even if he was just trying to mask the hickey. That didn’t settle well with him. The Frenchman nodded in understanding, but his lips were still parted in confusion. 

  
“That would explain this sweaty hair. Take a shower, both of you.” He commanded like a father, which made Thomas, the commander of commanders, stiffen a bit against Alexander.   
“Will do.” Alex responded for him with a deep dip of the head, digging his little nails into Thomas’s thigh to snap him the hell out of it. Lafayette, however, continued. 

“While I have you here, I have news about tomorrow.”   
“Ooh. Should we be nervous?” Alexander’s eyes twinkled cunningly, already curious about the plans. Would they have a mock mission? Probably not so soon. But fitness training? Another hand-to-hand session. He was down for any of it, as long as they could perhaps have an… ample lunch break in between. A round of shots fired close to the camera with some shouting so Lafayette paused before going on. He coughed once the noise ceased. 

“Depends. I had to report to Washington on your little incident today, although he’d already heard a fair amount from the rumors. You really chose the _best_ time to pull such a childish stunt. Very intuitive.” Lafayette scolded sarcastically, still some bitterness in his boisterous voice over their basically-public showdown. Alex coughed, tucking another strand of tangled hair over his ear as Thomas’s fingers twitched against Alex’s chest. The boy knew everything about Thomas’s behavior, and that was a nervous one. 

“Okay. So Washington knows.” Alex shrugged indifferently under the weight of Thomas’s arm, leaning back into it a little. Thomas’s dark brows twitched down and he growled so lowly that only the vain, arrogant little shit could feel it against his body. Alex completely ignored his warning. 

“What does that have to do with tomorrow?” The boy gestured loftily and lazily with the wave of a hand. 

“Everything, mon frere.” Lafayette responded as gravelly revving of an engine passed by, “Form, watch your form, elbow down--good.” he coughed, returning, “Je suis désolé, what were we saying, yes, tomorrow.” he sniffed, “Washington is not happy with how your incident reflects on his bureau. I do not blame his excellency. So tomorrow afternoon, press conference.” he announced curtly like a teacher announcing detention. 

  
Thomas’s lips parted, but Alexander didn’t even react other than to shrug again, “Okay. Closed or open?”   
“Closed. Only for the bureau's ears. Both of you in the Press Room at noon sharp; cameras and reporters await.”   
“Halle-fucking-lujah.” Alex grumbled. Everyone knew how Alexander felt about the press, and yet nobody evaded questions so elegantly or provided such witty remarks as he. Alexander tried to remember his last press conference and his heart dropped in his chest. 

“Please tell me Adams won’t be there.”   
“He will. And I suggest you mind your mouth while he is.” Lafayette warned with stark seriousness, almost graveness in his tone. Alex rolled his eyes and mumbled something under his breath but Thomas’s fingers curled into a very loose fist against Alex’s chest. He didn’t like that. He didn’t like that at all. But Alex had reason to be so bratty; John Adams was a long time nemesis, a fat snake with a notepad and a twisted way with words. 

  
“But, of course, I am absolutely confident that you have matured, and this will not be a problem, oui?” Lafayette asked suggestively, raising an eyebrow. 

Alexander paused, not saying anything because he was not going to make any promises on this one, no. Not much maturing occurs alone in a room for a year, but even he knew not to bring that up now.

Thomas didn’t look at him, but that large hand crept across their laps to rest on Alexander’s thigh off-camera, not pressing, not squeezing. Just sitting there on his bare, smooth leg. And the power and danger radiating from it was overwhelming nevertheless. 

  
“Mhm.” Alex finally grunted, picking at Thomas’s sheets, disgruntled. He remembered the day he got a formal request from Washington with the words. 

“ _Once again, please stop telling the press workers to eat your ass. It is unprofessional._ ”

“Bien. And Toma, keep him in check on the podium when I cannot regulate.”   
“I plan on it.” Thomas blinked cooly, and nothing showed on his face as he slowly glided his thumb across Alex’s sensitive inner thigh. The boy’s lips parted and he struggled not to sharply inhale at the unexpected touch. His hazel eyes glanced down and watched Thomas’s tanned hand on his leg, just brushing him like a possession. 

“I see you tomorrow at eight. Bien?” Lafayette’s voice was tinted with skepticism, slow as he watched Alexander’s eyes trained on his own lap. Lafayette knew something was up. He knew something was up since the meeting in Washington's office about the bounty. Thomas was the only one looking now, and the man nodded cooly. 

“Bien. Nous vous verrons demain.” Thomas spoke evenly, his Southern accent twanging just slightly on his French. So… _hot_. Alexander swallowed, clearly not thinking straight with Thomas’s hand on him and Thomas’s dominant scent swathed around him like a mark of ownership, a conquest. He was almost a bit dizzy all of a sudden. 

“Bien. Reposez-vous et prenez une douche. Le garçon a l'air d'avoir été renversé par un train.” Lafayette spoke in French, most likely to say something he didn’t want Alex to hear. The Virginian’s lips tugged into a light grin.

“Je suis d'accord.” Thomas smirked smugly as if he was in agreement with something. 

“Au revoir.”

“Au revoir.” 

“Baguette…” Alexander contributed weakly, looking back and forth between the two in utter befuddlement as Thomas pressed the red hangup icon and immediately swung his head to look down at Alex with an open mouth. The boy licked his lips, breaking his eyes away from the hand on his naked thigh. Thomas raised an eyebrow, extremely fucking unimpressed. 

“Hit my leg on the desk. Really.” He drawled dryly. Alex scoffed, giving him a dirty look as he took his hand between two fingers like it was vermin and tossed it off his shoulders.    
“Didn’t see you doing squat shit to help me, so unless you have anything better to say.” Alexander sneered, scooting away from Thomas with a rustle of sheets. The Virginian watched him slide off the foot of the bed and pull the shirt down over his bareness. There was a bulge in the flat front where Alexander’s half-hard cock was still pressing, needing some attention. 

The driver inhaled deeply, swinging his legs to sit on the edge of the bed.

“You gonna act like this at the press conference?” Thomas scolded, crossing his arms to strip off Alexander’s sweatshirt swiftly. Alex looked over his shoulder with a dark scowl, unable to help his gaze drifting to the sculpted body. 

“Act like what?” 

“A smart-aleck.” Thomas chucked him the sweatshirt that smelled like both of them now. And still cum. Alex caught it and glared at Thomas. 

“Hey. Who called Lafayette while we were in bed?” he scoffed, cutting Thomas off before the man could open his mouth and retort, “That’s right, your clumsy ass.” He pointed aggressively at him, sweatshirt in hand, “Tomorrow I imagine the blood will be in my brain, not in my cock, asshole.” he turned away.    
  
“Cute. That you think that’s your decision.” Thomas huffed, not a hint of a smile on his face. Alex stopped in the doorframe, turning his head just enough to see Thomas out of the corner of his eye. The boy was backlit, giving him a dark appearance, almost as austere as Thomas’s beauty. 

“What’re you implying, Agent Jefferson?” Alexander whispered softly, lifting one hand to lightly rest on the frame daintily curling his fingers on it. He had long nails, Thomas realized. Not creepily long, but there were white crescents on each fingernail. Thomas remained seated on the bed, hands at his sides so Alex could see… everything. 

“I’m implying…” he spoke cooly and enunciated properly, “that a certain someone. Needs to check his attitude.” he spoke in fragments, voice softer than usual to assert his control, “Or I will check it for him. And he will not be a happy boy when I do.”    
He finished, folding his hands and placing them elegantly in his lap, elbows resting on his legs. Alexander stayed, and in the silhouette, Thomas could see the faintest twitch of his lip.

  
“Maybe he will be happy, Jefferson. It sounds like he’s a sucker for punishment if we’re talking about the same guy.”   
“Mm.” Thomas grunted, shaking his head slowly. His eyes were dark as tar, “Not in front of hundreds of people, he isn’t. Unless I am mistaken. And he is truly more vulgar than I ever thought.”   
  


“Perhaps he is. Is he also ravishingly hot and can shoot someone’s mouth off through the window of a moving vehicle?”   
“Mm…” Thomas hummed, voice rumbling deeply in his throat. This time he found a dark smirk of his own, a playful smirk of dark wit. Neither would admit that they loved little dances like these, tiny games that they played with their sharp intellects. They could never find them anywhere else. 

“I’m afraid that would narrow it down too much, Agent Hamilton.”   
“Would it?” Alex’s lips parted now in his smirk, eyebrows raised. Thomas rapped his fingers one by one in a wave of tapping over the back of his other hand. The subtle movement of both impatience and patience fucked with Alex’s head; Thomas watched the boy’s eyes flicked down to it. 

“Well. I guess our little slut shall remain anonymous.” 

“Guess he will.” Thomas spoke, nothing on him moving but his lips. Alex moved to walk away, but Thomas’s voice halted him once more. 

“One last thing. He’s not hot.”   
Alex gradually turned his head to look at his dom. “No?” Alexander challenged slowly.

“No.” Thomas finally blinked, twitching a brow over at Alexander. The boy twitched one right back, up for the challenge.    
“He’s what we call ‘barely legal’. He’s pretty, not hot, Alexander. Big boys are hot.” Thomas corrected, voice rumbling again with how deep it truly was. The grin spread slowly back across Alexander’s face. 

“You still think I’m barely legal?”   
“At nineteen looking like sixteen? PornHub would kill for your ass, Hamilton, but unfortunately for them, we are too rich to care what PornHub wants, aren’t we?”   
“Ahh, so he is me.” Alex grinned cockily, tilting his chin up. Thomas’s train of thought lurched to a pause. His face fell, confused.

“What?”   
Alex tut-tutted, shaking his head sympathetically, “Gotta be careful with that tongue, Thomas. You let it slip like a fat kid on a slip-n-slide.” he chuckled lightly, “Think about what you just said for a sec.”

Thomas did not laugh, retaining a stone-cold facade as he realized that he’d just fallen right into the trap and told Alexander that he was speaking of him, even if it was already supposed to be obvious--a given. He had still slipped, no matter if they both knew the object of the game. 

“Think I’m pretty, Tommy?” Alexander smiled, flashing those perfectly straight white teeth, “I’m flattered.”   
“You’re also an insufferable little shit with a bad attitude.” Thomas responded, finally standing from the bed, black sweatpants falling beautifully on his hips and hanging low to show the peaks of his V-line. 

“But a pretty one.”    
  
There was no response. No affirmation and no denial, but the silence would be more than sufficient for the sniper. 

Alex turned himself around, wanting to face Thomas for his next tactic. He leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms lazily. Thomas’s shirt fell against his side and hinted at the outline of his pretty hip and cock.

“So what’re you doing tonight?” He queried casually, “Anything fun?”

Thomas huffed with an arrogant smirk, lightly amused at the kid trying to be slick. Thomas stepped across the carpet, sauntering over to his closet. His muscles rippled as he walked and smoothed his hair back slick over his head. 

“Dinner with James.”   
“I asked if you were doing anything _fun_ , Jefferson.”   
“Hmph.” Thomas laughed through his nose as he entered his closet and disappeared without ever giving Alex a glance. 

The boy weighed his options for a moment as he heard scuffling sound, and then the hollow clinking and clacking of clothes hangers tapping each other. Alexander stood back up with a grunt, not ready to give up his efforts quite yet. If he was precise enough, if he was diligent enough, he could squeeze what he wanted out of Thomas like a tube of fresh toothpaste. 

“Why are you asking? Need someone tuck you in?” he insulted from behind the walls, the rustling of fabric was obvious though muffled. Alexander laughed out loud taking slow, unhurried steps across the bedroom. 

“Always, daddy.” He purred to no response, not expecting one in the first place. He sniffed, crossing his arms as he sauntered, “No, actually. Was going to ask if you wanted to go clubbing or something.” Alex spoke to nothing. Thomas just kept dressing, not taking a moment to pause and consider what Alex had said. 

  
“Clubbing.”   
“Yeah, ever heard of it?” Alexander appeared in the doorframe, coming into view of the walk-in closet, “It’s this thing that fun people do. Get drunk. Grind on strangers.”

“I know what clubbing is, you ass.” he sneered, feeding a belt through the loops and buckling it around his strong hips.    
“Great so you’re in.” Alex leaned against the frame to take in the sights. Thomas was in black dress pants and socks, and he shrugged on a white button-up shirt in front of a full-length mirror. He made eye contact through the glass with Alexander for only a moment’s glimpse before returning to his task, starting at the bottom and working at the buttons the precision of a surgeon. Which he was.

“What the hell club could you even get into? Mickey Mouse Clubhouse?” Thomas leered, working up his chest. Alexander scoffed.    
“Anywhere you want, driver-boy. You name the place; I know the bouncer.” He tilted his chin up confidently, watching Thomas dress. The man didn’t respond as he glided open and viewed his massive tie drawer with no variety whatsoever, all black ties. He selected one and unrolled it, turning back to the mirror. 

“We leave at ten?” Alex inquired. 

“Nice try, kid.”   
Alex leaned into the door, shoulder bumping it, “Ahh, come on Mr. Burns.” Alexander still grinned charmingly, using those good looks to coax him towards it, “If you bring an extra set of pants, we can take the Nightcrawler.” he purred sweetly, singing the words.   
“Pants?” Thomas gave him an annoyed glance in the mirror, slinging the tie over the back of his neck and tucking it under his collar. 

“Yeah. I know you jizz yourself every time you see that car, but you know what they say. Cum prepared, am I right?”

“Nobody says that, Alexander.” Thomas grunted under his breath, lifting his chin to knot his tie expertly.    
“I said that.”   
“My previous statement stands.” 

  
“Ooh. Ouch.” Alexander shook his head once with his hands tucked in his armpits and blew out some air to signal the burn. Thomas didn’t even smirk to himself this time, just stood tall and confident in front of the towering glass, staring into his own raven eyes as he carefully tightened the knot up to his throat and smoothed the blade of the tie against his body. Alexander tried not to shuffle at the spectacle, and didn’t speak, just spectated silently whilst Thomas slid open another shallow drawer, more like a tray, with black velvet lining. An array of sparkling watches with their own light source around the edges of the drawer, making their faces and bands glitter. 

Thomas quietly selected a rather showy timepiece and delicately turned up his wrist, exposing the veins to place the cold watch on his skin. Alexander didn’t move.   
“Cartier?” he guessed the brand. Thomas didn’t look up, but tilted the item so that Alexander could see the diamonds studded around the rectangular face. Yeah, Alexander thought. That was Cartier alright--a personal favorite of his own as well. Perhaps Jefferson had taste after all. 

“Go with Laurens, Alexander.” Thomas drawled dryly, taking one step towards his suit jackets and quietly extracted one from a hanger that clacked against the one beside it. The man had row upon row of black suit jackets, and by the look of what Alexander could see, not a single one wasn’t fit precisely to his body. 

“Seem pretty keen on him as far as I can tell.” The man inhaled cooly, shrugging it over his body and rolling his shoulders back with confidence arching his neck beautifully as he flicked his arms forth to straighten the sleeves in a way that was somehow… sexy. He met with Alexander’s eyes in the mirror glass over his shoulder. Thomas couldn’t read micro expressions--not like the boy could. But regular human emotion was not an issue for him. 

“Hesitant, are we? Why’s that?” The driver slowly lifted each wrist, checking his cuffs delicately. Alexander stood, never breaching the eye contact. 

“Trying to get me to say something, Jefferson?” Alexander cocked his chin, smooth hair falling back away from his young face. 

“No.” Thomas responded simply, drifting his hands down to button the suit at his waist. The fabric fit against his frame like it was made for him, which of course it was. Alexander had never seen a gentleman look so fine in a suit, so elegant and yet so powerful. So tall and controlled. Ony people close to him knew the wrath brewing just under such a cool facade…

“What did you think I wanted you to say. Out of curiosity.” Thomas specified, a note of entertainment in his voice, but it was rhetorical. Alexander picked it up in a heartbeat, seeing right through his game. 

“No, no no. I see what you’re doing.” Alexander smirked knowingly, running his tongue over the front of his teeth with closed lips. Thomas gave him a flickering glance in the mirror before returning to his drawers once again. 

  
“You want me to validate your beliefs of what _you_ want to believe I was thinking.”    
“And what would that be?” Thomas neatly avoided the tangled parts of that statement that involved himself and flipped it right back onto Alexander. Clever. Alex huffed a short laugh, genuinely entertained by this man and leaned leisurely against the doorframe. It felt like the first time they’d met all over again, tentatively probing through each other’s minds to find the weak spots, always searching for the true intent of the other and never _quite_ finding it or all of its parts. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know, weather-boy.” Alex sneered loftily.

“Quote another Vine at me and we’re going to have a long and unpleasant talk.”

  
“Mm. Fair.” Alexander squinted and hummed pleasantly. For a few moments neither spoke whilst Thomas selected a tie pin, plain silver from its own velvet tray, so it must have had some special value. Once again Alexander found himself trying to nudge Thomas intellectually into another round. After all that agreement, he had thought that today would end with three or four orgasms, but he was slowly understanding that their dynamic was not so simple as that, the underbellied truth turning over and exposing itself to him. They were like an endangered species of rich, arrogant aristocrats; perfect conditions were needed for those stars to align. Not physical needs, no--Alexander had no doubt that Thomas would nail him in a Wendy’s bathroom if need be--but something far more abstract. 

“Well, Thomas, if you insist, I’ll go with Laurens.” Alex sighed, standing up from his leaned position as if he had given in, but he kept his eyes on the mirror as he pretended to walk away, awaiting his cue. Thomas hesitated, fingers freezing on his reined tie clip. 

There it was. 

Alexander halted himself smoothly, not lurching to draw attention, just quietly slowing to a stop as he had always planned to do. Thomas’s neck was still arched, his dark eyes trained on his own in the mirror. It was impossible to stifle; even he could see the dreaded waver in his own gaze. Alex cocked his head manipulatively. 

“Oh but you don’t want me to?” he spoke in the same tone Thomas had, “Why’s that?” He followed the older man’s script. The men fell still, both facing the mirror. The silent tension hanging in the air between them was charged with power, pulsating with the ringing nerve of Alexander’s last words, and it dragged on, taut and straining to be broken. 

“Remind me when I said that.” Thomas blinked, running his hands slowly down the silky fabric of his tie to rest daintily behind his back, interlocking his fingers. Alexander shrugged, folding his arms once again. 

“Your voice never said it, you’re right.” He gave him that credit with an acknowledging frown, “But I find it a little insulting you think I need your voice to know what’s going through that thick head of yours.”   
“Careful, Alexander...” Thomas whispered breathily with a single head shake, “Very careful.” he warned with a dark seriousness that could not be framed into words. In the ensuing silence, there was only the barely audible rapping of Thomas's fingers against the back of his hand. Slow… threateningly sinister. 

At this point, Alexander knew to rein himself in just enough… _just_ enough to push Thomas to make the decision on his own, guide him unwittingly to the finish line and leave him a foot away. 

  
“What is it, Thomas? You like clubbing I imagine.”   
“With a certain amount of class. I do.” Thomas clipped between an unnoticeably grinding jaw. 

“Then I don’t get it. I don’t want to go with John.... _You_ don’t want me to go with John...” Alexander shrugged, putting on a dramatic show with his frowning face at each statement. It was nothing but an act, a stunt, because the kid knew exactly what was going through Thomas’s head, yes. But… he didn’t want Thomas to give in--to go with him, or even to admit it. He simply wanted the man to think about this all night....

“So I don’t see what the problem is.”

Suddenly, Thomas whirled around, turning away from the mirror and facing Alexander from ten feet away. His hair stayed nicely in place, ebony and neat against his head, and as always when his temper began to surface, his eyes were far darker.

  
“My problem is that I have prior obligations.”   
“So you don’t want to go.”   
“Bingo, princess.” Thomas sneered, striding towards Alex whilst rotating the Cartier watch on his wrist. Alex’s eyes widened, uncrossing his arms and bracing himself as Thomas rapidly approached with those six-foot-five strides. His heart thudded, but when Thomas got to him, the man breezed by with not so much of a whiff of brand new suit fabric in the wind that followed him. Alex swiveled around on one heel, heart still pounding and a bit disappointed. He stood there in shock for a moment as Thomas continued right into his bathroom. 

  
The boy swallowed, not nearly finished yet. He’d been toying with Thomas’s mind since after they had sex, and he wasn’t about to stop now.

“Alright. Imagine you’re free tonight.”   
“I’m not.”   
“Okay, but imagine. What’d you do?” 

Alexander lurched as Thomas precipitously stumbled back in front of the bathroom door, clapping a hand down to the frame with a violent smack and pointing viciously at Alexander. The boy jumped and stopped in his tracks. 

“First of all, I don’t want to hear another word from you until tomorrow morning. End of story. Second of all, your petty drama is getting you nowhere but laid across my knee and beaten like a fucking animal as soon as I get home, so **check** yourself. Third of all, your hypotheticals are of no relevance, and fourth I actually have places to be, so you’d better **get** out of my room, **clean** up that **mess** in the entrance hall, and **go** to bed because we’re training tomorrow and my ass if you’re hungover like the pathetic lightweight you are.” Thomas seethed pointing at Alexander again with every point, bashing him mercilessly, “Is that perfectly clear or can I possibly dumb it down any more?” He spat, pursing his lips dangerously and seething in livid breaths, handing the mic over to Alexander. 

Alex was simply in shock. This man would usually react with such spontaneity, and now the temper was all there, but with such order, such firm command. Perhaps it was owing to the physical: Thomas dressed up in a suit that amounted to over a million dollars--professional, mature and poised--while Alexander stood before him, ten inches shorter draped in nothing but an oversized shirt bunched at the elbows like a middle school girl. Nevertheless, both radiated the same danger… 

“Alright. Keep telling yourself that, Thomas.” Alexander huffed with a laugh under his breath, mumbling and turning away. Thomas was still stuck on pause, pursed lips and awaiting his response. He slowly… slowly straightened, seeming to rise like a dark tower, looming over Alex. He rolled his shoulders back.    
  
“What did you just say?” he whispered. Alex stopped walking and glared right back up at him, unafraid. 

“I said to keep fucking telling yourself tha--” 

Before his last words were out of his mouth, an impact like a freight train to a butterfly barreled him backwards, blasting him right off his feet. The wind was knocked painfully out of his lungs with a sickening thud; he didn’t even have time to make a sound or cry out before he bounced heavily and blinked his eyes open, laid flat on the mattress with his feet still on the ground. Thomas had him by the wrists, pinning them beside his head. 

Alex sputtered a bit, trying to get his breath back while Thomas just _seethed_ at him, black eyes boring into the boy’s in undisguised wrath. Alex could smell the strong musk of his virile, two-hundred dollar cologne, all around him and engulfing him, almost _feeling_ his testosterone levels spike. 

“This is why I like good little twinks.” Thomas snarled in disgust, sinking his nails into Alexander’s delicate wrists. The kid gritted his teeth at the pain, but there was a smile tugging at his lips. 

“No, Thomas. This is exactly why you don’t.” Alexander contradicted, lifting his sore legs to wrap around the standing Thomas’s back and yank him down. The boy clenched Thomas’s tie in his teeth like an animal and dragged his head down far enough to release and go in for his mouth this time, go in for the kill. 

To his own surprise, Thomas dodged that effort, lifting his face just as Alexander closed his eyes.

_“Bad.”_ Thomas spat viciously, violently releasing Alex’s wrist to reach around him and land a flinging smack on his upper thigh. The sound of skin smacking on skin rang in the bedroom, and there was added pain now that Thomas was wearing a metal ring on his right hand. 

“Ah!” Alex cried out, legs jerking around Thomas as he squeezed his eyes shut and winced at the sting. 

  
“ ** _Bad_** boy. _God_ , I swear on my grave…” he snarled under his breath, spitting incoherently as he manipulated Alexander’s small body on the bed, flipping him over with a bit of difficulty as the stubborn little fucker writhed and resisted, trying to heel him in the gut, but Thomas was relentless. Alexander spat his name, “Thomas, don’t _touch_ me.” he warned, but he’d asked, _begged_ for it. 

“Fucking little…” Thomas cursed viciously under his breath, reeling back his entire arm to whack Alexander’s sculpted little ass that jiggled. But when Alex clenched and roared, Thomas didn’t stop. He landed four more in a row, not halting for a fraction of a second between blows, flogging him completely raw. 

When he stopped, tension physically vibrated in the air. 

**“Fucking...OH** my G _…..”_ Alex spoke between sharp gasps and a dumbstruck gulp when Thomas had finished, shellshocked from the devastating beating. Five hits. Five hits to obliterate his ass and cause his cock to swell painfully against the side of the bed, rubbing on the dry sheets. He tried not to squirm lest he make it more agonizing. 

“You like that? No?” Thomas snarled, not waiting for Alexander to give a snarky answer before he gave one himself. The driver shook his head firmly, standing back from Alex. The boy, heaved deep breaths, trying to compose himself and deal with the reverberating sting that smarted like a motherfucker. Despite wanting to bite the sheets and groan, he held his tongue to crane over his shoulder and see what Thomas was doing. There was a tinkling, clinking metal sound as Thomas stared down at his waist, fastening his belt. Alex realized he was clenching the sheets and let go. 

So, he thought. Thomas was going to belt him but had finally found some self control. 

“Unlike you, fuckwit, I have adult obligations. So I’m out of here.” Thomas spat, pointing at Alexander when he’d finished feeding the excess belt through the loop. He looked so domineering, so poised in his dark formalwear, and Alexander’s sultriness was just as glaring. Thomas had always had a liking for his boys wearing his clothes, but _Alexander_ wearing his clothes was a different ball game, it was a whole different playing field. The neck hung low so the peak of his pretty collarbones curved elegantly out of his shoulders. He could smell himself on the boy... and he wanted to. _God_ he wanted to for just a fleeting moment.

But before Alexander could open his gasping mouth to say something, Thomas had turned away dismissively, striding away from him and leaving him half-naked bent over the bed. 

  
“Get some clothes on. Go grind on lowlifes with Laurens; I don’t give a fuck what you do.”   
“Don’t you now.” Alex rolled his eyes riskily.    
“Ay. Wise-guy. Watch that fucking mouth unless you want me to finish what I started when I get home, cause I fucking will.” Thomas reached the door frame and turned on a heel to face Alexander. 

“Nobody comes in this apartment when I’m gone, hear me? No one. I want that mess you made cleaned up with an apology note on it to me, and I want you in your own fucking bed by ten tonight.” 

“You can’t tell me what to--”   
“ **Did** I stutter?” Thomas barked, shutting him up with a single look of wrath. Alex intook a deep… slow breath, trembling with outrage and struggling to contain it. Thomas saw the kid’s jaw muscle grinding, his wheels turning in his head, weighing his options. Two polar opposite people with matched unpredictability was a recipe for a storm. A perfect storm. 

Thomas lifted his chin quietly when Alexander slowly… slowly lowered his eyes. Finally, an act of submission. 

“No sir.” Alexander whispered, nails digging into the long sleeves of Thomas’s shirt so hard his palms ached. 

“Didn’t think so.” Thomas responded cooly, straightening his suit cuffs with a newfound collected control, eyes trained on Alex. It was the light switch that Alexander had been blindly groping for in the dark. Thomas was a **night** mare until the very second he was in control, and when he got there, presto. The flip switched and he was as calm as nobody’s business. But little did Alex know he was a nightmare of a whole different kind at that point, one that Alexander was yet to discover. 

“Just don’t think it’s fair that you get two orgasms today and I only get one.” Alex grumbled, picking at the sleeve hem, making sure his tone wasn’t whiny or obnoxious. This was another test--one last test before Thomas left. He had another little something he wanted to find out before the man headed out. For a moment Thomas was completely lost. Was this another joke or was he actually serious somehow? He made a face, brows swooping down.    
  
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” he scoffed incredulously, but when Alexander looked up, his eyes glimmered. 

“The boys. Earlier today...” he prompted suggestively, pretending to be just as confused at Thomas’s reaction even though he had already gathered all the information he was looking for. Alex raised his head up just in time to see the flicker in Thomas’s eyes. He was as readable as a highway billboard. The boy’s pretty lips twitched, but he stifled the wicked grin to replace it with false confusion. 

  
“You couldn’t cum?” he inquired, almost on the edge of sympathetically.    
Thomas _stared_ at him, his face so sone-cold and calm that it was far more unsettling and worrisome than when he was expressing his fury. 

  
“That is none of your concern, Alexander.” he spoke evenly, chin tilted slightly in the air, “And as for fairness, I think you should check that privilege. _Right…. Now_. I can, and I will, bring you to the very edge, the cusp of your limit and leave you right there struggling. For days. I absolutely have no reserves when it comes to ‘fairness’ or lack thereof. Is that clear?” his voice remained bone-chillingly serene, each and every word as clear as rain. But it was getting Alexander far more worked up than he’d imagined; Thomas hadn’t said it directly, but he was talking about orgasm denial. Not a doubt in his mind. 

God, Alex wanted to screw up his plans to let Thomas go and just let him fuck him right there on the floor. Let him make him feel the tingling itch of an orgasm and completely stop, tearing it away from him at the last moment so all he could do was heave a helpless sob and _take_ it, _nothing_ else he could do. 

The boy swallowed. 

“Yeah. Have it your way, Thomas.” Alexander stood from the bed to shake off the fantasy and the dri-fit fabric slipped silkily down to his knees, covering him so that Thomas couldn’t see his blatant arousal. Even the slightest movement made his ass scorch with searing-hot pain. Thomas had done a number on him. 

“I’ll be back by ten if that’s what you want.”   
“You will.”    
“Kay.” Alex shrugged, “Have fun with James. Tell him his favorite little jailbird says hello.”

“Hm.” Thomas grunted, turning away from a cooly grinning Alexander with mild excess anger still left over. Alex watched the man go, straightening his suit lapels before striding out of sight. 

“I think you’re pretty too, by the way.” Alexander called after him with a sly, taunting grin and not getting so much as a scof as Thomas disappeared, “Maybe we should do a scene for PurnHub if you think they’d like that.”   
  


This time there was no response, but Alexander was fine with that. He’d done a pretty smooth job today if he did say so himself, and the wave of deep satisfaction washing through him was quite enough to keep him happy as a clam in high waters. The boy sniffed as soon as he was sure Thomas was gone, turning his attention to the bed and sauntered back towards it. He’d need his phone to invite John over, now wouldn’t he? 

The shirt settling on his ass stung like a bitch as he shuffled through the covers, pushing them aside to find his cell. 

Despite his satisfaction, he couldn’t help but feel a little bit of what he had said to Thomas reflect back on himself. When he had let the wild side of himself loose to expose Thomas’s addiction for him, now as he stood at the side of the bed under those looming cabinets, so gilded and light on the outside and yet so full of beautiful horrors, he couldn’t help but hear his own words echo in his head. Perhaps he was not as immune to his own treatment as he had thought…

When Thomas had stood in his closet, dressing slowly and carefully like a king with leisure and yet with dark precision, giving him those dangerous, dark glances through the glass of the mirror… he had to put it out of his head before he overanalyzed this. 

Alex shook it off and pushed aside a pillow to reveal his phone screen. The moment passed as quickly as it had come 

Yes, he thought in satisfaction as he unlocked it and paced out of Thomas Jefferson’s bedroom. Today had been quite the success. 

* * *

Thomas finished his chuckling by pressing a cool glass to his lips and glancing around the small restaurant. The ambient sound of a single pianist in the center filled the space softly and set the mood and atmosphere of the dim, golden place with a rhythmic, lulling beat. Gentle clinking of forks on china plates, calm buzzing chatter and the occasional laugh contributed to the ambiance of the well renowned restaurant, “1789”. 

Colonial paintings in ornate gold frames adorned the walls, giving the place a poised appearance as the soft candlelight shed luminance on the festive depictions of gentlemen in cravats chasing the hounds boisterously on long legged thoroughbreds. Thomas was well familiar with the place, but nevertheless he was curious about James’s spontaneous invitation. Speculation had been long forgotten as they now sat over empty plates, full and heavy. Thomas’s earlier craving for a steak had been satisfied by medium-rare filet mignon. James had a salad like he always did. 

Thomas leaned back in his seat, concluding his scan of the place and smacking his lips with a delicate sigh to place the glass back on the white-clothed table with a light thump. James watched him, twirling his finger around the rim of his own glass lazily.    
  
“You are aware that that is water, are you?”   
“Rather.” Thomas responded, licking his lips like it was the finest wine he’d ever tasted, “Good water though.”   
“Good. Water.” James raised his eyebrows and chuckled, looking away to fold his napkin in his lap, “Your standards have plummeted.”

Thomas waited a moment in thought before he crossed his arms over his chest, rolling his shoulders in his suit. 

“Everything from this place is good. Don’t know how you got a reservation.”   
“Bah. You dine here twice a week.” James waved a dismissive hand to pick up his own water glass, knowing full well that Thomas had the cash to eat where he pleased when he pleased. Thomas just broke out into a devilish smile. 

  
“I know. But I asked how _you_ got a reservation here.” 

James, who was raising his glass to his mouth, hesitated, giving him a raised eyebrow and another quiet chuckle before slowly resuming. Thomas just kept the same grin, satisfied with himself, and waited for James to be done. The friends always had a way of joking around, with Thomas doing most of the joking and James doing most of the “really?”-ing. It worked. 

Thomas only looked away for a moment to observe the pianist’s fingers. It was so fascinating to him how that worked; he used to play piano when he was like twelve, he thought. Maybe eleven? He could hardly play like this woman. 

His attention slowly wandered its way back to James, meandering contently with his warm, full stomach, but as soon as their eyes met, his heart lurched. Thomas snapped back into focus. James had been staring at him over their tabe, hands folded in his lap, and immediately, Thomas’s brows swooped down, wary. 

“What?” he inquired, already feeling his heartbeat thump in a steady rhythm. Something in his gut was giving him a warning, a gentle… subtle warning. Thomas knew he couldn't read micro expressions or read minds, but he had always had one of the strongest gut-intuitions he knew of. And this was a red flag if he ever saw one--inexplicable, yes, but a red flag. 

James daintily cleared his throat with a tiny cough, and scooted his chair closer to the table tucking himself in. When he forced his gaze back up to his friend’s, the man was sweeping him up and down with those intelligent midnight irises. 

“Thomas, I wanted to ask you something.”   
  
Instantly, Thomas’s mind leaped into action, scanning and scouring rapidly for anything James could possibly know. His lips parted, and he covered his reaction with words. 

  
“Is this about the ball?” Thomas guessed, trying not to look away in humiliation. It seemed so long ago when it was only two days. But he remembered how shortly he had treated James, and how he’d asked him in the middle of the night to be his date to the whole ordeal just to spite Alexander. He’d forgotten about it in all of the hubbub, but it made sense if James hadn’t. To his greatest relief, the older man just dipped his head and waved a hand, putting the entire suggestion to the side. 

  
“No, no. It’s not.” he clipped, blinking his eyes shut as if trying to brush it away, “In fact, let’s never speak of that again.”   
“Agreed.” Thomas concurred, not showing the rush of alleviation that they’d never discuss his awkward invitation as he lifted his glass again, ice tinkling against the crystal as he sipped. James waited for him to be done before he continued, aware of the tension he was creating and unable to stop himself at this point. He knew what he had to bring up was going to bring hell. Thomas drank and licked his lips less boisterously, setting his glass down slower. 

  
He hesitantly lifted his eyes to James.    
“Yes?” he prompted, and James's hands nearly jumped to the table, folding in front of him formally. He cleared his throat a second time.    
  
“Thomas, I wanted to ask you about Alexander.” 

Thomas breathed something inaudibly and sighed, leaning back in his seat and looking up to the ceiling to retain his cool. 

“What’s all that for?” James furrowed his brows, confused. Thomas crossed his arms over his chest again, immediately throwing up the walls before returning the gaze. This was un-fucking-believable.    
  


“Nothing, it’s just everywhere I go that little twerp is the object of conversation; it’s unbearable.” Thomas looked off to the side with a clenched jaw. Alexander. Why did every fucking thing have to revolve around Alexander like he was the vantriloquest and the universe his dummy. James interrupted his thoughts before the Virginian could get too up in his own head. 

“I’m not asking about _him_ , Tom, I’m asking about _you_.” he gestured forward with his interlaced fingers like he was a therapist, tilting his head to force Thomas to look at him again. 

“I’m going to be forward with you, alright? Washington and I have spoken and we both have concerns. Talk to me, Thomas; this… can’t be easy to say the least. To live with him..” James almost winced as he spoke, feeling Thomas’s reaction coming on. The man’s eyes darkened, clouding with a storm. He knew… exactly what James was talking about. What James wanted to talk about. 

  
“Tom, I’m asking for your own good. I want to know if I can help.”   
“Help what?” Thomas suddenly joined in on the conversation--and standoffish-ly, “The psycho lives in my house on Washington’s orders; so unless you’ve got weight with Washington.” Something flickered behind James’s strong eyes, but it had vanished within a fraction of a second, the older taking the lead. 

  
“Don’t be curt with me. Please, you’re acting like a child.” 

Thomas shook his head in utter disbelief, leaning back as far as he could in his seat with his knuckles to his parted lips, just avoiding those eyes and shaking his head like he knew this was going to fucking happen. James, used to stifling Thomas’s wrath, continued relentlessly.

“No more dancing. This is where we finally talk about it, Tom. About... him.” 

This time, James wasn't talking about Alexander anymore. 

Thomas paused, stiffening, not even breathing. The ambience sounds of the soft piano and muffled chatter gave this intense meeting a surreal feel, like a dream. The driver knew that James was not referring to Alexander this time, and his black eyebrows slowly furrowed down to shadow his face. 

“We…” Thomas’s voice dripped with a tone so dark that midnight would lighten it, “Are not talking about him…” he spat carefully. In the low candlelight, James could observe the stringy muscle of his jaw grind once against his skin. 

“We’ve never talked about him. Not once.” James poked a finger onto the tablecloth, narrowly missing his vinaigrette-slathered fork, “And I have waited, Tom. Watched you hold it down and push it aside and throw it under the rug, and I’ve stood by your side and let you cope on your own because that’s what you wanted. Don’t you think I deserve to talk about this after a year of doing what you want?”   
  


“Oh please, don’t guilt me into this, James.” Thomas shook his head once again, looking to the ceiling again, his go-to place. 

“No, don’t make me the bad guy. Because I’m not.” James responded immediately and looked him up and down, trying to find a way into that stubborn, thick head, “Now more than ever; you are living with him and you’re going to keep living with him on the mission and for God knows how long. And as your best friend and dearest companion, I worry about you, Tom. I do, because when he was locked away under my supervision, at least you could forget about what happened, but that’s over.” James enunciated clearly, watching Thomas shake his head slowly refusing to meet his eyes as he spoke, “It’s finished. Do you hear me?” 

James hesitated, knowing the blow he had to regrettingly deliver next. He licked his lips in preparation. 

“You have to face that he’s gone, Tom.”

  
“You think I don’t know that?” Thomas finally spat, and his words came out louder than he’d anticipated. A couple at a tabe near them went quiet for a moment, slowly turning back to their meals with cautious glances. The clinking of knives resumed. Thomas wetted his lips and drew a deep breath, comprehending that he was getting this worked up at his best and closest friend in a public restaurant. 

He closed his eyes, to cool his temper, placing a hand flat on the table. 

“I… am quite aware that he’s gone.” he spoke in a voice drained of any emotion, completely black and white. 

“But Tom, listen to me.” James leaned in closer, flashing a brief impatient smile that was condescending in an unintentional way, frustrated that Thomas wasn’t getting it, “This resentment of Alexander, that you’re doing right here, it’s… not going to bring him back.”   
“When did I say it would? I mean really; come on. This is ridiculous, James. How can you look me in the face and tell me to, what? Just. Forgive? Is that what you and Washington want from me?” Thomas gestured openly with his hands, exemplifying the ludicrousy of that notion. James closed his mouth.    
  


Thomas leaned forward and placed a finger on the table to punctuate his point. 

“That kid looked Randolph in his eighteen-year-old eyes and shot him full of lead right in front of my fucking face. That sociopath snapped like the lunatic he is and took him away from me without a moment’s warning, and you want me to forgive him? Sure, I mean, if you say so. Sounds good to me. Why hadn’t I thought of that before.” Thomas scoffed with an incredulous little sneer, tossing his napkin up onto the table and leaning back once more. 

“This is exactly what I’m talking about, Tom.” James gestured at all of him, “This isn’t healthy to be thinking about him with so much hate. Please, I’m a psychiatrist; I know so many great therapists who can help reframe what happened--”

  
“I don’t need a therapist.”   
“Thomas.”   
“You know who needs a therapist? That self-important little brat in my living room.” 

“Thomas.” James interrupted cooly again, counterbalancing Thomas’s blatant frustration as the man reached in his suit and extracted his wallet with jerking movements. The man saw James’s exhausted expression and stopped what he was doing, setting his wallet down on the table by his empty plate. 

“I. Am sorry. About what happened.” 

Thomas’s breathing became shallow. The words were so genuine, so unadulterated. James shook his head in regret.  “You never deserved to lose someone that you loved.” 

Oh. 

Thomas didn’t move. He felt frozen. His mouth ran dry. This wasn’t the turn he was expecting, and Thomas wasn’t used to being off his guard. Not like this. 

“It wasn’t like that.” his voice wavered no matter how he tried to contain it, and he bit his tongue as soon as they had rolled off of it. James’s face softened as he felt himself finally peeking through a rare crack in Thomas’s impossibly hard shell. He shuffled in his leather-seated 

chair, pulling it in closer to the table as the pianist concluded a song to a muffled round of polite applause. 

  
“Thomas… I know how you felt about him. Or how you wanted to feel and were conflicted. And I want to validate that complexness that was present, and acknowledge it as another part of you that desired to protect yourself and Randolph. Which is honorable.” 

Thomas flinched at the name, his fingers twitching over his wallet on the table. James’s eyes flicked down to his fingers and back to his face, stormy eyes not meeting his. James wanted to heal his friend, not to see him so torn and conflicted. But it wasn’t that simple. He feared that Thomas could tell he’d rehearsed these words before arrival; he probably could. James opened his mouth to speak, but a figure drifted in front of them. 

“May I exchange these empty plates for a dessert menu?” a waiter inquired politely, shattering the moment between James and Alexander. The older man leaned back in his seat, smoothing his gray tie down over his chest with an inhale, but Thomas didn’t move a muscle. His clouded eyes remained deep in thought. 

“A check would be fine, if you please.” He responded looking up with a brief nod. The waiter reached between them to take their things, plates and silverware clinking together. 

“Of course.” he dipped his head respectfully, “Enjoy everything this evening?”   
  


The courteous causerie continued as nothing but background noise, blending into the sounds of the evening restaurant and fading far… far away from Thomas. The break was welcome, but it left a gap for the dark reminiscences to creep back into his mind like crawling roots of a sinister black seed planted one year ago taking hold once again. He could _feel_ the bitter hatred rising in him, swelling and writhing in his head, making him want to just hit something. It wasn’t far of James to spring this bullshit on him, not after he’d worked so hard to kick it under the rug where it belonged. Leave it to James to pry it open as soon as it had finally been sealed. 

Eventually, Thomas was vaguely aware that James was talking to him. 

  
“Tom. Tom, I know you’re angry with me.”

He blinked, retracting from the confines of his own thoughts. He licked his lips, tapping his fingers on the smooth brown leather of his wallet, still staring down at the glaring white tablecloth. 

  
“I’m not angry at you.” he growled simply, not wanting to speak about this anymore. James was one of the only people who could even begin to control and influence his actions. As much of a friend that he was, he also served as a sort of paternal figure in addition. James pursed his lips and raised an eyebrow. 

  
“You are. Tom. And rightfully so.” he contradicted, folding his hands on the table once again, “I just want the best for you now--here. After what has happened and it cannot be reversed. I don’t want you to remember Randolph in that last moment. I don’t want you to remember Alexander in that last moment either--look, let’s do this.” James pulled his chair in as Thomas’s eyes focused on a man’s shoe in the painting next to them.    
  
“Tell me a memory you have of all three of you. A positive one, dig it up.”   
“Seriously, James?” Thomas swung his head back to him, lips parted in unimpressed disbelief, “How old do you think I am?”

James stiffened, face going strict as it sometimes did when Thomas was being this way, “Nobody’s ‘too old’ to need reminding; what does that even mean? I’m asking you to do this one favor for me. Think, Tom, there’s one in there.”    
  


“Ridiculous…” Thomas whispered under his breath, shaking his head in annoyance and looking away. This was ridiculous; this night had become a fucking therapy trap. But James watched him. He could see that he was scouring his mind whether he wanted to be or not. The warden waited patiently, unmoving so he wouldn’t throw off Thomas’s unwitting train of thought. The piano plinked softly in the background. The single candle flickered luminously between them. And James sat quietly.

One minute passed. Three. Five. 

Finally, Thomas lifted his knuckles just in front of his mouth in a casual gesture, and inhaled deeply, “San Marcos Airport. December.” he waved the fingers in a tiny motion with a faint eye roll, drawling out the words on a sigh, “Satisfied?” 

James suppressed the wide grin threatening on his face and nodded, “And what happened there.”   
“Are you kidding me--”   
“Thomas.”

  
“Alright. Alright. Just.” Thomas quieted him with squeezed shut eyes like the nagging was driving him batty. The Virginian exhaled in frustration again and ran a thumb and forefinger over his dark brows like he had a headache, “Whole country had a blizzard but Texas, obviously, so our flight got delayed three times and finally cancelled at three in the morning.” his voice was muffled behind his hand until he drew it away, blinking his eyes back open. 

“Gate was empty and only five hours till our flight so we said fuck it on the motel and just sat there.” he shrugged, and reached for his water glass again, swirling it around in his hand. The ice had melted leaving only beads of cool condensation on the exterior of the glass.    
  
“The kids were exhausted, and by the time I got back from being pissed off at the help desk they’d fallen asleep on each other at the gate.”   
“And why was that special?” James fit his gentle question nicely into the recount. Thomas raised his glass to his lips and gave James an irritated look over the rim. 

“Why are you asking rhetorical questions?” he spoke echoingly into the crystal, tilting it back for a sip. 

“I want to hear you answer it.”   
  
He waited patiently as Thomas drew out his swig longer than it should’ve taken, throat bobbing over his tie. James knew he was being a bit difficult on purpose, but he assumed the role of the adult that he was. Finally, Thomas licked his lips and only looked into the glass. 

“Because Alexander refused to sleep when Randolph was near him.” He punctuated clearly, setting the crystal down with a light thump. James blinked and dipped his head as if he’d given the correct answer in class. Few people knew that truth but Thomas and James. 

“Thank you. What happened next?”   
  


Thomas inhaled and crossed his arms, blinking slowly across the table.   
“They heard me come back and Randolph woke up. Which woke up Alex. Guess the latter saw that I looked like someone just pissed in my coffee and he got up and came over to me. Asked for my phone.” Thomas shrugged, giving the story in short, dry sentences, trying to stare at a woman’s black heels to force the imagery out of his head, force it out. But no matter how he tried, it crept right back in, surrounding him. 

He could almost smell the airport scent of thousands of people and cheap leather seats, Jet fuel and pavement and the muffled sound of an empty gate with unpopped eardrums from flight after flight. 

“Eventually the nagging got me to give up my phone and he went to the AppStore promising that this was going to keep us entertained all night. Didn’t really care at this point, I was pretty ticked off, but as long as the kids were happy and I could get some sleep. We were all sleep deprived and smelled like shit.” Thomas felt himself about to huff a morbid laugh and bit his lip to stave it off. 

“Long story short, you know charades?” He sped things up to get out of it quickly.   
“Yes.”   
“Alex got this charades app called Heads Up. Stupidest thing I’d ever seen; you put it on your head and the other person acts out what it says like an absolute dumbass.”   
James smiled fondly, a twinkle in his eye and let Thomas continue.    
  
“Anyway, just suppose it was hard to be a pissy killjoy watching Randolph frantically guess that Alexander was riding an imaginary tractor. The kid sucked.”   
James chuckles, both genuinely amused at the memory and wanting to encourage Thomas to continue, let it fill him up inside. Thomas had a deep, rumbling laugh, and he let a single one come through this time. 

“The word was ‘dimples’ at some point. You know. Randolph had one dimple.” Thomas raised his index finger to touch the left side of his face but quickly put it back down on the table and cleared his throat. He didn’t want to think about that too much. 

  
“Guess the rule was that you can’t touch another player but Alex was running out of time so he just kinda jumped forward and poked Randolph right in the cheek and screamed ‘dimple, you fucking twat-noggin’ and I think you can imagine that we finally lost our shit. And were asked to please act with courteous volume by the personnel.” Thomas noticed his spirits beginning to rise at the memory, and he crossed his arms tighter over his chest and pursed his lips, running his tongue over his teeth from behind them.

“So yep. That’s it.” he finished hastily without a hint of conclusion, cutting everything short for the sake of preserving his walls. He threw them back up around himself before he could say another word. For a period of time, neither spoke. Despite the bustle of the restaurant all around them, they were in their own little sphere; they were enveloped in a theoretical dome of silence. Thomas kept staring at that lady’s shoe. Just focusing on how it reflected the candlelight. Just focus. 

Softly, James leaned over his folded arms on the table, carefully avoiding the candle. 

  
“I can see why that is a happy memory. Randolph and Alexander rarely got along with one another so effortlessly, and that must have been powerful to observe. And I thank you.” 

Thomas didn’t move. 

James dipped his head, trying to find Thomas’s eyes, but they were in another place. Perhaps in the flat, arid San Marcos Airport.    
“Thank you. For sharing that with me, Tom.” he spoke, so genuine and authentic that it was heart-wrenching for both of them. But Thomas was so far off, he might as well have been speaking to thin air. 

* * *

“You want the green one above the black? Or do we have space under…” John trailed off, turning the gun in his hands and glancing at the wall again to gauge the room. Alex was sitting up on the bed at the center of the mess, trying to flick off a piece of sticky plastic from his pointer finger. 

“Uh, yeah. KNT-308 can go above the AS-50.” Alex mumbled offhandedly, flinging it into the sheets and peeling another sticker-back off of the adhesive strip. John stood up on his knees and peered down at the sniper rifles around him. 

“Yep you’re gonna have to use English. I don’t speak gun.”   
“Green above black. Yes.” Alexander sighed heavily, running an impatient forearm over his face while his fingers were occupied, and went back to his work putting together the hook racks. He heard scuffling as John walked on his knees to pick up the KNT-308 and lift the heavy firearm from the floor. 

“Hey, you alright, man?” John peeked over at his friend on the bed as he crossed the room, weaving between empty boxes and scattered guns. They’d been at it for an hour and a half and they were almost done: implementing Alexander’s vast gun collection to embellish all three walls of his new room. He did have a… frightening amount of firearms, but John didn’t mention it. He didn’t bring it up. 

“Why?” Alex grumbled, rubbing his forearm over his nose again and tossing the hair out of his face. His knees sank into the mattress as he walked up to the wall and stuck the hook rig against it, pressing a few times with a bit lip to make sure it adhered evenly. 

“Dunno. You just seem off.”   
“Off.” Alexander repeated, absent-mindedly, taking the heavy sniper rifle from John and placing it carefully on the hooks with a clack, lining it up right. He jiggled it once to make sure it was in place; he hadn’t been sure about this new rigging system from Ace Hardware. John just watched him, sitting on the edge of the bed. 

  
“Yeah, off. What’s up, bro, I thought you had a great day?” John furrowed his brows, scanning Alex up and down and swinging both legs up onto the bed, kicking aside a box and some styrofoam with socked feet. 

He wasn’t wrong. Alexander had called him, over-enthusiastic as usual, and with a hell of a story to tell. But when he got there, Alex was acting strange to say the least, dragging his feet upstairs and hardly talking very much, definitely a weird sign that something was up. He’d drawled on about the milestones he had accomplished in the span of twenty-four hours and showed him the marks on his skin. A nearly black hickey and an ass spotted with bruises and handprints so violent they were raised. He’d expected the sniper would be over the fucking moon to put up his gun collection and babble and babble about how proud his is of himself with Thomas under the tip of his little finger, but he was just rather… quiet. Almost morose and glum which was something so rare, John hadn’t even recognized it as a possibility at first.

Alexander--how should he put it?--didn’t GET sad. He didn’t know that he could...

“I did have a great day.” Alex mumbled again, sitting back down on his knees and brushing some hair out of his face. John seamlessly passed him Alex’s gatorade which he had taken a sip out of. Alex flipped around, back to the headboard and sipped with a tilted back head. John could see his blotched, wine-colored hickey bloomed on his neck like a blossoming deadly nightshade flower, and the older gulped quietly. 

“Okay, so then why are you all doom and gloom?”   
“I don’t do ‘gloom’.” Alex lifting a finger and spoke while swallowing his last gulp, “My two emotions are trouble and horny. Gloom ain’t even on the menu.” He drank again, tucking his legs up under himself with a rustle of sweatpants on sheets.    
  
“Neither…” John squinted down at the bed for a moment, and then back up to Alex, taking the gatorade back when he saw he was offering, “Neither of those are emotions, dude.” he shook his head slowly, holding the bottle.    
“Yes they are.”   
“Whatever, whatever.” John shook his head, closing his eyes to shut Alex up and pull them back on the track that Alex was weaving away from travelling, “You’ve been sad all night. What is it? You’re obligated to tell me.” he watched Alex grumble something under his breath as John spoke and lower himself to the bed, punting aside some styrofoam to lay down. He was still wearing Thomas’s shirt, but he had sweatpants on now too. 

“I thought you’d be annoying the living hell out of me since you got Jefferson to fuck your sorry ass, but you’re just not as agonizing as usual.”   
“Oh. Well thanks.” Alex grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest and bumping his knees boredly against each other. He didn’t know what the fuck was up with himself either. He’d hoped John wouldn’t notice, but he had a hard time gilding this, and it was driving him batty. The shit he was feeling now, he didn’t think he’d EVER felt before in his life, and it was fucking big-time with his head. John was right. He’d had a day of deep satisfaction in all areas to put it simply. But his whole being had just… fallen into this soporific sort of somberness. 

“I’m not _‘sad’.”_ Alexander spoke the word in a dumb, deep voice to mock John’s, “I’m just fucking annoyed at this heavy pit in my stomach.”   
“That would literally be sadness, fuckhead. Do you even know what sadness is?”

“And also at this douchebag in my bed.”   


John extended a socked foot to poke him under the ass. Alex scowled and jerked away, wiggling over a crinkling plastic bag. He craned, arching his back and reaching under him.    
“Huh. Cheetos?”   
“Sure.” John took them, but he wouldn’t let Alexander off cleanly, not with this one. This was rare, and John was going to find the root of it no matter where it took him. 

“Okay, fine. When did you start feeling this ‘heaviness’. When I showed up?”   
“No.” Alex flung a hand over his eyes, grunting the word like a toddler who was being asked if they wanted their dad to ‘turn this fucking car around this instant’. John rolled his eyes, digging his foot under Alexander again as he popped open the unnecessarily noisy bag. 

  
“So it started…” he prompted exasperatedly gesturing with his head. 

“I guess…” Alex scanned himself, trying to remember when he’d started feeling like a pile of steaming shit. He heaved a long-ass sigh, “After Jefferson spanked me and left.” he monotoned dryly, reaching up with that arm and waving his hand flippantly. John was already crunching on the Cheetos without offering Alexander any because it was a favorite and they both knew the sacred rules surrounding favorite snacks. 

Out of the blue, John stopped. Alex cracked one eye open, giving a sideways glance when the crunching halted.    
“What?”

John set down the bag and sat forward a bit to reach in his pocket hastily. 

“Hey, what the--hey!” Alex pushed his hand away when John wiped the Cheeto dust on his sweatpants and haphazardly whipped out his phone. 

“Okay, you’re into BDSN right.”   
“M.”   
“Huh?” John paused, white light from his screen illuminating his face in a single rectangle. 

“It’s BDS **M** .”   
“Whatever the fuck; the kinky shit. Leather go slap slap.”   
“Sure.” 

John poked just the tip of his tongue between his lips as his thumbs tapped, breathing some words as he typed them into the Google search engine.   
“Sad...After...sex…”   
“I’m not sad, fuckface.” Alex remained stubborn.   
“Shut up, it’s for the sake of the search.” he twitched his head dismissively in annoyance as if he was brushing off a fly, eyes still darting over the screen. 

“I know I’ve seen something like this somewhere, there’s a word for it…” he scrolled a bit, and Alex deflated with another sigh, Thomas’s shirt draped breathably over his little frame. 

It was starting to lose its strong scent to his inexplicable disappointment. As John searched, Alex slowly closed his eyes, just wanting to go the fuck to sleep. He didn’t even really feel like socializing anymore, which was completely uncharacteristic, but he didn’t think about that either. He just didn't want to think. 

“Subdrop!” Alex was jarred from his drifting place, eyes snapping open with a spurt of adrenaline. 

“JESUS John.”   
“Shush-ush.” he waved a hand to silence Alex, who had a hand on his chest not to feel his fluttering heart, “Subdrop refers to the sorrow a submissive partner…” he trailed off, thumb over his lips as he read in his head. Alex scoffed, heaving himself up from the bed to snatch the phone out from between John’s fingers.    
  


“Hey!”   
“Let me see; this applies to me asshole.” Alexander hissed possessively, turning his shoulder so that John couldn’t grab it back. When he was sure he was safe, he kept reading out loud. 

“Subdrop refers to the sorrow a submissive partner may feel after sex due to the crashing of endorphins and the aftermath of adrenaline… he swiped his thumb down to the bottom, hazel eyes appearing pale beige in the light as he searched for a solution to whatever the hell kind of hippy bullshit this was. 

“These feelings can be connected to not feeling worthwhile after being sexually gratifying to the other partner… Taking time to be affectionate and partake in aftercare is one of the healthiest and most efficient ways to prevent subdrop-- _ **Hell**_ no. Hell to the fucking no.” Alex interrupted himself after speeding through the last two sentences. 

  
“Wait, back the fuck up,” John made a face, lunging forward to pry his phone out of Alexander’s iron little fingers with a grunt, “aren’t you the one who requested aftercare in the first place.” Alexander had both his hands in his long hair, raking it back over his scalp.    
“Well yeah, to fuck with his head. I didn’t know what it was _for_.”   
“And did you do whatever aftercare is today?”

Alex leaned back into the headboard, thoughts racing through his head and out of sight too quickly for him to snatch and comprehend. Comprehend the true implications of this supposed subdrop thing. He ran his hand through his hair again. 

“Well...yeah.” he placed his knuckles to his mouth, thinking. His posture was impeccable as usual, straight, taller than the kid himself. In the dim room, he looked ominously foreboding. And then John realized why with a skip of a heartbeat. The boy was sitting in shadowy pale light, completely framed by rows upon rows... of guns. Over his head, to his sides, all around him. Machines of death. Towering up to the ceiling where they couldn’t be seen in the shadows. John swallowed silently. 

“I made him massage me but just to keep him around while I fucked with his head. And then thirty-five seconds later I interrupted to fuck with him some more, so I guess…” Alexander bit his knuckle, deep in thought, “I guess the answer is no?” he predicted like he was going out on a whim. 

John leaned back, shuffling his legs out in front of him to sit criss cross in front of him. 

“Okay, look man, I don’t know jack shit about your kinky voodoo.” Alex huffed a short laugh, and John lifted the open cardboard flap of a box to grope for their gatorade again, “But look, maybe this is a good thing, I don’t know.” he shrugged, uncapping it, “Maybe feeling something every once in a while’s--I don’t know--GOOD.” he tried effortfully to shove out his point without trying to say what he was truly trying to convey. Alexander’s mind… needed something like this for the good of them all. An emotional awakening, but he seemed to brush it off like it was a zit he could pop and be done with at once. 

  
“How is this fucking BS good? This better not become a thing, or I swear...” Alex grumbled, taking the gatorade from John again disgruntledly, pouting. 

“Look, I know you hate this shit, and to be honest I hate it too because you’re kind of a dick right now.” Alexander scowled at him over the blue liquid that he had tilted back, “So how bout this: next time you two toss the sheets, actually **do** the aftercare without any of your bullshit and see what happens. Maybe you’ll even like it, man.”   
  


“My fucking ass.” Alex licked his lips, handing the bottle to John to cap again, “I’d rather shoot my balls off than pretend to be lovey-dovey with that stuck-up piece of shit.”   
“Fine. Your decision.” John shrugged in a ‘your funeral’ kind of innocence, “I’m just saying to think about it unless you want to feel like ass every time you get yours pounded.” he shrugged again.

It was out of his hands and all he could do was provide the advice he thought best. He could see it in Alexander’s eyes. When he looked at those guns. The boy was itching, he was drooling over those weapons to be back in the game--raring to get through training and start his mission. Alexander was crouching at the starting line, muscles bunching up beneath him, chomping and gagging on the bit to get out there. He didn’t say it, but he was burning for their mission, and John could read that like a picture book. Did he not think that continuing a mass plan to manipulate Jefferson to kiss the ground at his feet at the same time they were supposed to be felling the mafia was a recipe for destruction? Alexander wore blinders. He would never see anything but success in his schemes. 

Alex picked at a piece of styrofoam, pulling off the little white flakes between his fingernails and making a mess. 

“I hate subdrop.” he mumbled, “Never had this shit with you.”

“Ha. Second thoughts about this whole thing?” John mused, a tiny part of him hoping that Alexander would just drop it now that he’d seen what he was messing with. But he should’ve known his manipulative, win-or-die friend would only see this as all the more reason to try harder.    
“Nah. I’ll figure it out.” Alex tossed the chunk of styrofoam to the end of the bed, watching it tumble off and to the floor, “I just don’t get why this fuckery only happens with that physical embodiment of Lego brick to the heel.”    


John sighed deeply, slapping his palms on his knees and leaning stiffly forward. “Well,” he huffed, unfolding his legs to swing them off the bed, “You kind of signed up for it in that contract, buddy. Dived in pretty fucking hard for a BDSM virgin.” Alex watched him step carefully over a few Amazon boxes before making it to his shoes and bending over.  “Says you, Mr. Missionary. Couch sex is the kinkiest thing you’ve ever done.”

“I know.” John didn’t stand up, but looked up at him on the bed with a light smile, hair falling down in his face,“Didn’t say it wasn’t. ” he tied his shoes, standing up with a tiny head rush when he’d finished. He blew air out through his lips with puffed cheeks, “Luckily I can cum without getting punched in the face and whipped in the shin with a Razor Scooter.”   
  


“Yeah… that’s too cruel for even BDSM, John.” Alexander put on a comically serious face. Razor Scooter to the shin was so fucking painful that it was hardly something to joke about.    
“Fair.” he laughed, standing back to look up at the wall of guns with a satisfied sigh. 

“Enjoy your new rig. I’m getting out of here before your mans comes home and yeets me off the top of the Capitol Building.”

“Mhm.” Alex grunted, unamused where he usually would be, and staring up at the ceiling. John watched through the dim light as his friend sunk back down into the pillows onto his back, not bothering to clean up the mess of cardboard and styrofoam around him. John licked his lips awkwardly and stepped to the stairs, possibly just as conflicted as Alexander, but he placed his hand on the banister before he descended and turned around on an impulse. 

  
“Hey. Don’t get too down on yourself tonight. It’s just the subdrop up in your head, alright, man?”   
“I know.” Alexander retorted defensively, scowling at the ceiling. For a few beats of silence, neither made a sound. Eventually John brushed two fingers over his nose awkwardly with a sniff. 

  
“Okay. Well get your ass to sleep. And good luck at your first press conference back.”   
“Don’t need it.” Alex spoke up to the ceiling, just feeling heavy and shitty and just overall out of sorts. John nodded with pursed lips, clunking down the first step. 

“But Jefferson will.” He spoke quietly, cooly. John had heard his words but didn’t turn around. At this point, he didn’t want to know the truth or bluff behind that statement in the slightest. 

* * *

Thomas quietly entered the apartment, easing the door slowly closed with a light click and silently slid his shoes off at the mat. Being in the silence for the first time… it felt almost surreal. This day itself felt like there were three packed into it, shoved and crammed into twenty-four hours of noise, chaos, and… whatever had just happened with James which was still lingering on him like acrid ash to a smoker. As he tucked his wallet back inside of his suit that now smelled like the restaurant, steak and lamb sauce, he blinked in mild shock when his eyes fell on his abode. 

It was dark. All the lights had been turned off leaving only the glow of the stars over the skyline. And the glittering windows from skyscrapers and ant-sized cars weaving in slow-motion down on the streets. To his even deeper surprise, the shattered vase was no longer smashed and scattered on the floor. Thomas padded deeper inside with a quiet sniff, socked feet a bit cold on the hardwood floor whilst he made his way to the kitchen.

He couldn’t see very well in the dark as he ran a hand through his hair, lumbering to the kitchen for a glass of water for this headache he’d attained somewhere between dinner and car ride home. It was getting worse now, pounding. He was prone to migraines and he hadn’t had one in what felt like a long time, so this was just a fucking drag. He pulled open the glass cabinet and lifted a cup down to fill it at the sink. The tap water somehow tasted better than what came out of the fridge, and he didn’t feel like swallowing a chunk of ice in the dark right now.  As he pulled open the waist-level cabinet for Advil, his elbow brushed something that crinkled. 

He flinched, jerking his arm back and accidentally yanking the drawer open with a rattle of pill bottles. 

“Shit…” he mouthed inaudibly, squinting and extending his fingers to probe for the dark lump. He dug into his back pocket for his phone and tapped the flashlight icon. 

A brown paper Whole Foods bag was on the edge island counter. He sniffed again, skull panging at the bright light as he tilted down the lip and peeked inside. Shards of azure glass glittered back at him with one yellow sticky note on the top, two words inscribed in Alexander’s slanted handwriting. 

  
“Fuck you.” it read. Yes. With the period. 

Thomas parted his lips and shook his head, not even looking at it as he glided open the cabinet for the trash can and swept the bag off the table right into it. The muffled tinkling of glass was all he heard with the thump of the drawer closing with his knee. He just wanted to go the fuck to sleep even if it was only ten o’clock…

Ten o’ clock. 

  
His train of thought lurched to a stop leaving only the hammering of pressure in his cranium. Was Alexander back?

For a time of indecision, Thomas hesitated. Alone… in the silence of that apartment, the same dark feeling of ancient, black tendrils curling into his mind began to creep back in. His mood visibly darkened. He had given orders to Alexander, made them extremely fucking clear, that was for sure. But after what James had pried, peeled back open like Pandora’s Box, did he want to check on the boy before he went to sleep?    
  
Thomas licked his lips, shifting his weight to the other foot and inhaling. This was bullshit. 

“Fuck it.” he whispered, so sick. So sick of the hammering in his skull that he’d just get it the fuck overwith and go to sleep; he didn’t have time to stand there and comprehend the ‘deep psychological reasoning’ for this indecisiveness. There was none. It was futile. 

His feet made only muffled “puff” sounds as he ascended the stairs, hand ghosting over the metal railing as not to kill himself. Whether it was his headache or the full stomach or both, his heart thudded deep in his chest, and now he could hear the blood roaring in his ears, the white noise becoming deafening the further he ascended. He wasn’t out of shape; everyone knew that. This was something else. 

There was this impending feeling of panic. Thomas had never had an anxiety condition, but his potent gut-intuition was pleading with him to listen to this cry of danger. He didn’t listen, brushing it off with a dismissive flick of his head. For the last time, he reminded himself how stupid this was. How fucking ridiculous to be afraid to this degree of nothing but smoke, nothing but thin air. 

When he finally reached the top of the stairs, panic roiling, mounting, surging inexplicably in his chest… he stopped. Everything stopped. 

In the sheer darkness in the room, Thomas’s raven eyes widened to comprehend what he was seeing around him.

His mouth ran completely dry, lips parting. 

Rows.. upon rows of guns lined the walls. Handguns to tactical snipers to shotguns. They were invisible save their silhouettes against the white wall; Thomas could see all of it. How did he do this all in a night...

Almost in a complete trance… The driver stepped forward, unbuttoned suit swishing quietly at his hip. Expecting blank walls and arriving to this sickening display… it made his stomach knot nauseatingly. 

Thomas found the surface of the bed with his fingertips, brushing over it as he walked, mesmerized. The closer he got… the clearer he could see Alexander, and when he was five feet away, he halted. 

The word that struck him was ‘small’. Alexander lay on his side with the comforter up to his neck so that only his face and hands were visible peeking up from the covers. Thomas’s ebony eyes scanned him.  In sleep, he almost looked… different. An entire different person. His eyelashes swept his face as his eyes twitched behind the lids. His smug face was relaxed not into an expression far more peaceful, far more… innocent. His hair splayed out behind him in a golden waterfall, and for a moment. 

A bitter taste tinted Thomas’s tongue, and he screwed up his lips. He didn’t WANT to see Alexander in this way--on the outside looking in as the child he was, the child he could have been if all this shit had never happened. If it had all never happened...Thomas didn’t want to feel this pulsating heaviness in his gut at seeing Alexander as an innocent. 

The man was suddenly overwhelmed with self disgust. How could he stand there and look at the bastard with anything other than disgusted revulsion? The Virginian shook his head firmly, moving to walk away, but just as he did, something in the boy’s hand caught his eye. 

Thomas paused. 

Despite every yank in his body screaming at him to walk away. Despite the wicked eyes of the wretched weapons looming down on him from the walls, he took one more moment to see. Curiosity once again emerging victorious. Something shifted nauseatingly in his chest as soon as he understood what he was sighting.

Clutched loosely, curled inside of the little fingers of Alexander was the black fabric of his shirt. He was holding it when he had fallen asleep.

By mistake? Thomas had no clue. But as he whirled away, head lancing with pain, he knew that coming up there was a mistake in itself. 


	12. Sit Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Here's another long one! :D And if you want to follow Alexander and Thomas's playlist that I've made on Spotify, they're called "Eight Shot's a Psychopath" and "Driver-boy"! Will be added to as time progresses! I love you all so much and have a lovely, lovely day! <3 <3 <3

Alexander exhaled with a huff and shifted his hips, wiggling with a grunt into position. One hand still settled lazily on the trigger of his sniper rifle, he reached back behind him to click open a hard pouch on his belt that held his rifle ammo. Between two fingers, he carefully extracted the small nub of a bullet, chilly on his skin; he knew where it would be; this was second nature, innate. In a smooth motion he brought it forward and twirled it around his thumb once, glinting in the stark light, and slid it with a click into the chamber under the scope. The sniper exhaled quietly through his nose and curled his fingers carefully around his cachet weapon, fitting into it like a puzzle piece as he settled his left eye level with the scope. He peered through one thousand two-hundred feet of blue to see his target on the other side of the range. He was used to seeing the world in this way--things afar yet so very close, and alas, the smallest movement would destroy his chance at hitting the target. He was too skilled to ever pull something so stupid.    
  
His cheek pressed against the chilliness of his weapon like a lover, and immediately he felt an icy thunderbolt of adrenaline surge between himself and the machine of death, pulsating, washing through him, exhilarating and enlivening all of his senses. There was electricity wherever it brushed his skin. This was his sixth sense. 

He slowly breathed out blissfully through parted lips and glided the sliding bolt-action into place with a clack. Locked and loaded. He could have chosen any target. Your typical red dot encompassed by a circle-crescendo, a plus sign in blaring red, but Alexander chose what he would always choose in a heartbeat. The silhouette of a man. 

Alex shuffled his hips once more on the cool, flat surface, laying flat on his belly for the shot, and feeling the signature slowing of his heartbeat. He felt himself slip into the zone where nothing else mattered but hitting the target dead in the eye. There was nothing around him but himself and the weapon; even the ringing gunshots and falling shells of the other shooters didn’t distract him now. A few had clicked their firearms into holsters or propped their heads on elbows to watch. Alexander didn’t acknowledge them either. All he could hear was his heartbeat. All he could feel was his breathing expanding and releasing from his lungs, his life force. Everything fell into a sort of subspace of his own, dropping to subzero. All movement around him stopped until he exhaled and moved once muscle to pull the trigger. 

The crack of his gunshot jerked the sniper back into his arm, but he didn’t comprehend it in the slightest. His eyes never left the scope as he jerked back the bolt-action to release the empty shell clattering to the floor and reached behind him with expert precision, extracting another bullet from his pouch. He popped it into the chamber and locked the bolt-action into place without pausing to seamlessly replace his finger on the trigger and fire again with a banging echo. 

  
The "pang!" rang through the gun range and blended with the chorus of other bullets, a symphony to Alexander’s ears. God, this was heaven. He jerked his gloved hand back to slide out the bolt-action again, but jolted when there was a slapping sound beside him. 

He blinked, lifting his head from the scope, startled right out of the zone he was deep into like being woken up at five AM for your school alarm. Oh.

“Jesus, Lafs.” he breathed airily, exhaling through puffed cheeks, “Don’t come up on me when I’m shooting; I’ll blow someone’s head off.” He rolled stiffly onto his side with a huff, attempting with all his strength not to display his devastating soreness.    
  


Lafayette had sauntered up to him, clapping slowly with a cocked head in trainer uniform. He’d seen enough of the kid over the years not to be impressed at his shooting anymore. Well, not more than mildly impressed; it would take a fool to be completely unable to see the marksmanship in the boy’s talents. Lafayette sighed highly, clapping one last time before crossing his arms leisurely across his chest with a smile; his shirt today was tighter, and through the space between his unzipped jacket, his abs were clearly visible pressed to the fabric

“Good morning to you too, Xander.” he purred, ignoring Alex’s curtness as he approached the platform that Alex was laying on. There was a row of them, pristine and white rectangular prisms for the snipers. There were only four snipers this morning, but in the chamber to the left there were more training with handguns, and to the right was the entrance to the training course.

Alexander clicked back the bolt action and released the empty shell, chinking it back in place. The boy sighed stiffly and extended a gloved hand down the side of the prism to tap a panel. A white hologram materialized before his face depicting a recreation of the target he’d shot. 

Lafayette chuckled as Alexander rolled onto his back on the table-like surface, stretching cockily like a cat in the sun as if he’d just woken up. Perhaps Alexander was exhibiting himself after seeing Lafayette’s figure--demonstrating his constant need to get the upper hand in every situation: never shown-up. Alex was in his own uniform, and he arched his back off the platform with a sleepy sigh, letting the fabric ride up the tiniest bit to show the bare peak of his hip bones. 

Lafayette didn’t even seem to look at him. Or look like he was trying not to. 

“Only hit the target one time?” Lafayette purred condescendingly, scanning the hologram to see the single bullethole spot on the heart. 

“Perhaps you’re a little--how you say?--rusty.” 

Alex burst out a high laugh with a blissful sigh, finishing his arch-backed stretch and letting his spine lay flat on the platform once more; the shirt draped back down and covered his sliver of belly he was displaying. 

“Ha. Think again, French boy.” Alex snorted, reaching behind his head to lift his precious weapon backwards and bring it to lay on his chest, “I shot two bullets. Neither missed the target. Think again.” he repeated, sniffing as he used the heel of his palm to collapse the stands of his sleek, black Blaser R93 Tactical with a clack. 

Lafayette furrowed his brows. What was that supposed to mean? How in the… 

Oh.

As Lafayette took a second observation, his conclusion was that Alexander had hit the exact same bullet-size spot. Twice. So accurate it was completely indistinguishable. 

Alex sighed, clicking shut his bullet case and sitting up with a grunt. 

“Shit.” he huffed, swinging his legs over the side to sit with his sniper rifle in his lap, feet dangling over the edge of the platform. He really was sore from that massive ass-pounding last night, and he was praying to God nobody could tell. That morning he had been so stiff, he broke the fucking handle off his shower when he slipped, so now there was no way to turn it back on again. He’d limped to the kitchen and stolen Thomas’s food, and he’d limped down to the elevators until he was at the shooting range. Fun times. Lafs' eyes were still trained on the hologram, but Alexander was getting impatient. 

“So. What’re we doing today? Don’t say shooting range or I’m shooting myself.” he huffed a laugh, sliding off the platform onto the ground with a slap of leather soles and a rattle of bullets. Lafayette placed his hands on his hips and tapped a finger on it rhythmically, and Alexander leaned his hips back against the smooth surface to duck under the black sling of his weapon.    
  


“Actually, we  _ will  _ be working in the shooting range.”    
“Oh come  _ on _ .” Alexander immediately groaned before Lafayette had finished, rolling his head back to expose his throat. Didn’t his credentials display some sort of, say, lack of need to go back to the basics? He surely thought so, but he didn’t comprehend his mistake until it was far too late, returning his head to normal position. His instructor's brows swooped down in concern. 

  
“My God, Xander, what in the name of all that is holy happened to your neck?” his voice was edged with bafflement, eyes wide as they locked on the rosebud hickey. Alexander’s hand instinctively shot to his throat, but halfway there he changed route with a short cough to tuck his hair behind his ear instead and scratch. Nevertheless, the motion was a little awkward. 

  
“What’s wrong with my neck?” he spoke, making a face and shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Lafayette gaped at him with an incredulous scoff.   
“Perhaps this…  _ bruise  _ the side of a hockey puck. And equally as dark. Good lord, boy, did you get in a car accident?” Lafayette breathed, blonde ponytail slipping over his shoulder, “I can’t imagine where this came from.”

  
“This morning.” Alex shrugged, leaning casually back against the platform once again, “Slipped in the shower. Bit sore from yesterday.”   
Well. He wasn’t lying, now was he? Alexander was an incredibly good liar, but it always helped when the truth be told too. 

“Hit my neck on the handle going down, but it’s all good.” he crossed his arms over his chest, his black gloved fingers curling around his sleeved arms. Now was a time he could pull his favorite card of all. The boy tilted his head the slightest degree, twitching his eyebrows down for a fraction of a second before speaking once more.

“Have… any more questions?” he inquired politely, just so incredibly  _ polite _ . Nobody would see it as anything other than good manners if they didn’t know who the hell he was. Boring deep into those blue eyes for the tense beat of silence, Alexander read the signal that his fear card had worked smoothly. Always a tiny flicker, a tiny spurt of adrenaline in their chest, just enough to force the conversation exactly where Alex wanted it.    
  
“Back on the platform. We work on your abysmal stance.” Lafayette commanded curtly, moving forward towards him. For a moment, Alexander didn’t get it. 

“Wait, hold on, where’s Jefferson?” he made a face and furrowed his brows, turning around on a heel to face Lafayette. When he’d woken up, the apartment had been silent, dark. He’d imagined that Thomas had headed out early to eat something or to warm up, so he didn’t really care; he just went along with his business and broke the shower handle. But Lafayette knew he wouldn’t be coming? 

Lafayette gave him a sideways glance as he skirted the edge of the platform to the other side and clicked off the hologram.

“Agent Jefferson is unable to attend our session today.” his voice was muffled as he stood back up and brushed off his hands on his pants. If Alexander was making a face before, he was surely making one now. 

“What the fuck does that mean?” Alexander sneered, a weird sort of icky feeling crawling into his gut. He blinked, attempting to shake it off. Lafayette paused once he had stood back up and stopped what he was doing, staring at Alexander. Slowly… he raised an eyebrow. 

  
“He has the right to keep that private.” The man dipped his head just the slightest degree, displaying that Alexander was being borderline disrespectful, but the boy just curled his lip and scoffed.    
“He has the right to suck my balls.”   
“Agent. Hamilton.” Lafayette clipped between now-clenched teeth. Alex’s rusty eyes scanned over his friend rapidly to see the stringy jaw muscle flexing once on his face. He’d crossed the line, definitely crossed the line. The Frenchman scowled at him, clearly done with the bullshit. 

“I may not understand quick English or heavy slang, but I know that  _ that  _ statement is enough to get you kicked out of training for a week, so I advise you not to use it in my presence.”    
  
“Yeah, right. Kicked out.” Alexander snorted as he leaned his head down with locks of honey brown hair falling around his face as he removed his Blaser and set the cold, heavy firearm on the table a little less-than-gently, “Maybe I’d go hang out at the spa with Thomas. Get my toes done.” 

“Alright.” Lafayette turned away from Alexander to stroll away. He didn’t even look over his shoulder as he spoke, his unzipped black coat fluttering behind him as his heels clicked on the slick floor. Alexander stood there, dumbstruck, and watched his back. The older man held up one finger while he walked away. 

“Follow,  _ gosse _ . We do target practice after you do fifty push ups.” he snapped his fingers twice over his shoulder. Alex’s jaws parted with a scoff. 

“Fifty?”   
“Another word and it’s one hundred.  _ Allons-y, gamin _ .” his voice was a bit drowned out by the uneven banging of gunshots and the metallic ring of shells hitting the floor, but Alexander heard well enough. He spat a curse under his breath and slapped one leather-gloved hand onto his gun, dragging it off the table. He felt pouty. 

He felt pouty a lot, mind you, but this felt… almost off--not like that wacko subdrop feeling he’d had last night, but off. It felt like a whole other ball game, one he was beginning to feel deep in his gut that he was not enjoying in the slightest. He grumbled, allowing the rifle to bump on against his leg as he dragged himself after Lafayette. He tossed his hair out of his face. 

He felt pouty, yes. But there was something different this time. It was almost as if some sort of supervisory eye was sitting up in his apartment far away from him, not monitoring his every move. It was almost as if black, ebony irises weren’t watching his back, twirling a thousand dollar Bentley pen and taking note after note of little misbehaviors. All of a sudden he had all the rein in the world and no voice of true consequence. Strange… how that proposition sounded so lovely and yet made him slightly uncomfortable. Strange. 

Lafayette sensed the shift as well as the pair made their way towards the handgun range. Alexander was always a sophisticated brat, an asshole in a tailor-fitted suit, but today his tongue was a little careless--uncharacteristic of him. The man shrugged his jacket firmer onto his shoulders with a sniff and placed a forearm on the titanium door to push it ajar. Things were quite the contrary when Thomas was around. Of course Lafayette knew where Thomas was, but he’d kept his promise to the man; Alexander would not be told. But he found himself urging Thomas to arrive sooner rather than later. 

He suspected something was going on, not a doubt. In what world did Thomas wear hoodies,  _ especially  _ flashy green ones? In what world did Thomas simply “hit his leg on a desk” and suddenly, poof, they go up to the apartment? Nothing added up. 

Yet. 

He wouldn’t tolerate Alexander’s bullshit, not a chance in the world, but that didn’t mean he should have to keep correcting it over and over again. The Frenchman stepped in the doorway and used his body to hold it open for his young wunderkind trainee, icy eyes sweeping him up and down and just trying to figure him  _ out.  _ The boy passed him with a flash of white teeth as his nonverbal thanks. A sweet-scented wind of his favorite cologne followed him, but it was heavily masked by the masculine musk that Lafayette only recognized as Thomas Jefferson. 

* * *

Thomas’s arms swung firmly at his sides as he walked, leather soles tapping rhythmically on the slick floors. He breezed past the training course observation room, not bothering to peer inside, and continued on his way. He had an inexplicable motivation that was not always present after he’d had a migraine. And one so severe. He cleared his throat and checked the time on his watch. 11:30, he had plenty of time. He had time to kill. 

The man sniffed, seamlessly leaning into the observation room door for the shooting range. It swung open beneath his weight. The Virginian glanced around once he was inside the dim viewing area; the empty seats were only slightly illuminated by the white light filtered through the bulletproof glass, hexagonal strands of fiber proving it to be so. Not to mention it was a shooting range and anyone who didn’t want their face blown off would put bulletproof glass in the viewing room. If only that would work for car windows, Thomas thought with a mental-eye-roll, stepping elegantly down the shallow stairs to the front row. That had been a long-standing issue with him--the exterior of his vehicle was bulletproof, but the windows were the only non-negotiable part. He could hear the muffled, far-off bang of gunshots, see the movement of agents in black uniforms throughout the tiered levels of the range, moving like termites in a tower. Thomas unbuttoned his suit and bent his knees to lower into a seat at the front and center, content in the silence. There were three other people scattered in the room, but they were either sitting quietly with coffee or scribbling on clipboards. Thomas observed them with sideways glances before returning his attention to the spectacle he had come to witness. 

He leaned forward, dark eyes reflecting the terraced range whilst he scoured diligently. He could recognize some faces despite the distance, but he was searching for only two. With a rustling of leather chair and suit fabric, Thomas leaned forward, pointer fingers pressed attractively to his lips and placed his elbows on his knees. He bounced on the ball of his foot impatiently. The blonde ponytail was what gave them away. 

The driver licked his lips, squinting. Alexander and Lafayette were at the bottommost level of the range: the sniper segment. Thomas couldn’t help the spread of a smirk across his face and stifled a chuckle for the sake of the other people in the room. The kid hated stationary target practice, especially ground-level. Thomas spectated in light amusement as Alexander lowered his face back to the side of his weapon, obviously irritated with the heavy ear protection that looked even larger on his teenage noggin. The kid turned over his shoulder before taking a single shot, extracting a bullet and clearly complaining loudly as he did so. Lafayette had been standing back, but now he strode forward. Alex fell into position and the Frenchman gestured at him, obviously scolding. Thomas’s light mood abruptly took a veering turn... The man stiffened, pricking up a bit in his seat. He licked his lips. 

Lafayette spoke as he approached him, and he started correcting the sniper’s lazy, leisurely position that he performed so well in. With his hands. 

Thomas immediately placed his hands on his knees and leaned forward, not enough to be noticeable, but he felt a very faint alarm go off in his head, the hair on his neck spiking. The driver’s brows slowly furrowed with an inexplicable rise of temper as he watched Lafayette tuck Alexander’s elbows into strict position, speaking as he pushed down Alexander's head on top of the sound-cancelling ear protection. Thomas’s eyes darted between them, tunneling in on nothing but the pair. The instructor lectured for a few more moments, and only then did Thomas comprehend the tightness of his muscles. He released a deep exhale, puffing out his cheeks. What the fuck was he thinking? The instructor had every right to--

He had no time to mull before Lafayete had rounded the platform and had both hands on Alexander’s hips above the mag belt, adjusting them and pushing them down twice into the har surface to demonstrate his point, obviously enunciating some words. But Thomas’s fingers uncurled. He. Saw. Red. 

It was so incredibly sudden, even more so inexplicable, but Alexander flat on his belly, cute little ass curving up from the dip of his back with the heavy mag belt around his waist, and  _ all  _ while  _ Lafayette  _ was behind him with his hands on his hips, holding them down... Thomas’s lips slowly… slowly parted as his fingers curled against his own palms. Alex jerked back the bolt-action, clacking it into place before replacing his pretty gloved hand on the trigger and firing; Lafayette held him in place the whole time. 

With unwarranted irrationality, Thomas stood from his chair, causing an older man in the room to lift his gaze from his work and stare, but the driver had on blinkers. His vision was funneled down to this tiny straight-forward view as he straightened his tie curtly and strode out of the room. Fuck it, if the sharp gunshots killed his head, he wouldn’t give a damn. He had other things on his mind. 

* * *

Alex twitched his head slightly and he blinked, exhaling for another ringing shot. Lafayette always made him wear ear protection in the range no matter the circumstance, and it drove Alexander crazy to have one of his senses stripped from him. Nevertheless, Lafayette was stubborn when it came to keeping his trainees safe, so ear protection it was. Still a fucking nuisace if Alexander ever heard of one. When he reached for another bullet, a new movement caught his eye over the buttstock of his rifle. He paused, peeking over with his hazel eyes to glimpse Thomas Jefferson striding towards them in a full suit. As usual, black jacket, black tie, black pants, white shirt. Fucking stunning. 

  
Alexander couldn’t physically stifle the wicked grin spreading across his face at the sight, the slick back hair and fluttering lapels, but Thomas didn’t look at him, completely neglecting his eyes and walking right past his platform without so much as a glance. Alex parted his lips, following the man with his head. 

“Okay…” he mumbled to himself, more curious than anything else. This was going to be interesting, whatever the fuck this was. Perhaps Thomas had seen his gun collection that he had set up all nice and pretty for him. Alex reached behind himself with a grunt, putting the bullet back in place and clicking the case closed. He stayed on his belly and reached up carefully with a single gloved hand to push the headphones off of one ear, not enough to be noticeable, but enough to eavesdrop. Thomas stopped when he’d approached their instructor. 

“Toma. You should not be down here.” Lafayette’s tone was a blend of terseness and genuine concern, borderline incomprehensible thanks to the gunshots. There was a shuffle of fabric as Thomas must have shrugged. 

“I said I’d come down when I was well. Here I am.” Thomas sniffed, and peeked over at Alexander. He peered down at Lafayette. 

“How’s  _ he  _ been.” 

Alex placed his chin on the cold surface, grinning to himself as he listened. Thomas, Thomas, so sweet to ask about him, he snickered in his mind, having a dirty hunch for why the man was asking. Lafayette huffed a snort, never one to hold back expressive emotion.   
“He wields a tongue like fire. And he shoots like a lazy, fat child.”   
“Poetic, but he also aims like a hitman." A third voice piped up.

Both heads turned to Alexander as he sat up, grunting stiffly to swing his legs out and straddle the platform lazily. 

“Thomas. How are you?” he asked politely on a refreshed exhale, lifting a hand to strip away the headphones, tossing his luxurious mane so it fell back over his ears, “Fancy seeing you drop by.” he flashed a white-toothed smile and placed the headphones on the surface with a clatter.    
“As. I. Said.” Lafayette responded before even seeing Thomas bore into Alexander’s eyes, temper flashing dangerously beneath the coolness. 

“Tongue of fire.” he clipped, pursing his lips and placing his hands on his hips once more. Alex just frowned thoughtfully and shrugged. 

“I’ll take it as a compliment.” He smirked smugly, leaning back onto one hand and reclining like a cunning king. Thomas stood with a manner far more poised, radiating control. Once again, the clashing of ebony and hazel eyes ensued with a tense silence. Alexander coughed lightly, breaking the eye contact. Thomas found a faint smirk at the victory, but he should have known Alex had something up his sleeve.

“Not the only thing this tongue is good for.” he mumbled a bit, brushing over his nose with the back of his hand 

Thomas’s eyes darkened. Lafayette looked between the two, brows swooping down. 

“Care to translate that, Toma?” the man inquired, a note in his voice implying that he might know what Alexander had said by the way the two were looking at each other, an invisible connection of crackling, sparking electric tension pulling the pair. Thomas’s fingers twitched against his leg, and Alex’s eyes flickered to them and back with a tiny suggestive grin. Eleven-thirty. Eleven-thirty in the morning and he was already pushing his fucking luck. 

“No.” Thomas drawled deeply with a calm blink. He turned his head back to Lafayette, “I don’t think I do.”   
“Well. Then I don’t want to know.” The man rolled his eyes at both of them, done with the bullshit and ready to move these two knuckleheads along, “What I do want to know is that you’re both prepared for the press conference, oui? We have, let’s see…” He suddenly reached deep into his back pocket and fished out his phone. 

“Around thirty minutes. Perfect.” He put it back in his pocket whilst Alexander twisted to lift his sniper behind him, doing so in a manner that his shirt revealed his hip bones once again. “You two remember the purpose of this, yes?” he raised an eyebrow like a father, looking slowly between them. They were too busy looking at each other, but he’d make them listen. 

“You go to the podium today to make Washington and myself look like the professionals we are. And you will not act like dogs fighting to hump a football, is that understood?”   
Alexander blinked in surprise, sweeping Lafayette up and down, “Wow.  _ That’s  _ some new vocab.” he laughed a little, but Lafayette just swung his head to the boy and shut him up with one look. Alex cleared his throat, lowering his eyes to his gun that he shifted in his lap, strap swinging at his knee. 

Thomas couldn’t keep his eyes off the kid even if he was trying. The same aspects of the sniper that disgusted him were mouth-watering. The smug, laid back attitude. The light carelessness, a murder weapon slung across his scant lap space since his legs were straddling the fucking platform. He didn’t realize that the line between something naughty and something to be punished was blurring the more he was around Alexander. 

“Understood.” the man nodded deeply, “We will show the class we have as gentlemen, I’m sure.” he turned his face suggestively to Alexander. 

Wait a moment. 

Thomas blinked as out of fucking nowhere a weird sensation tingled behind his eyes. His mind was suddenly clearer than Caribbean waters for the first time since this brat got his ass out of jail, because why the hell  _ should  _ he hold himself back? That was the... entire point of this deal in the first place. This was ridiculous. 

He brought his hands to his front, fingering the button to fasten it casually. Change of fucking plans.

“The bathroom’s that way?” he inquired with complete cool, nodding his chin over to his right, “Can’t remember.”   
“Yes, first door on the right, I think.” Lafayette responded, tapping his finger on his hip again. Thomas turned his attention to the third man in the trio. 

“Agent Hamilton, I bet you need to change into a suit.” Alex hadn’t looked up yet, slinging his gun across his back with a sniff, hair dangling in front of his face. 

“Well, yeah, but I was gonna do it….” his voice fizzled out to nothing as he eventually settled the gun on his shoulder, lifted his head, and found Thomas’s eyes. He parted his lips. Oh. The boy looked to Lafayette this time, “Yeah, I was gonna do it here. To save time.” he covered up, running the back of his forearm over his nose in a casual gesture. Thomas nodded at him. 

“Well then, we should probably get going. Lafayette, see you,” he extended a hand and the Frenchman took it, “at the conference.” they leaned in to slap each other’s back in a masculine, brotherly way, but when their hands parted, Alexander spied fading white impressions where Thomas had apparently squeezed... _ just  _ a bit firmer than was warranted. Lafayette placed his hands in his pockets out of sight. 

“Yes, yes.” he lifted his chin in the air, almost attempting to get higher than Thomas. Just a bit. Alexander’s brows flicked downwards for a fraction of a second. Now… what do we have here? Lafayette sniffed, eyes still on Thomas’s.

“Tell this boy to get himself a buttstock shell holder, for the love of all that is good.” the Frenchman sighed with a resigned shake of the head, reaching behind himself to tighten his ponytail. Thomas turned his attention lazily back to Alex, who swung a leg up and over the platform to dismount. 

“Don’t need one.” he shrugged, sniper rifle bouncing against his back as he sauntered forward with lovely posture, “It’s enormously unnecessary.” he spoke, unbuttoning and tugging off his tactical gloves. Lafayette rolled his eyes up to the ceiling like they’d done this before. 

“Oui. So is reaching behind your  _ cul  _ every time you need a bullet.”   
“Well.” Alex grinned widely, tucking his gloves in his pocket and letting his hands slap down to his thighs, “Good thing I only need one bullet for the job, yeah?” he opened his arms to hug Lafayette, but the man deterred him with a handshake. It was work time, not friend time; Alexander never seemed to know the difference.

“Ah yes, I forget. The boy is God himself. He never misses.” Lafayette rolled his eyes, a bit more playful this time before releasing the boy’s hand. Thomas huffed a short, polite laugh and monitored the whole time, finger tapping against his crossed arm out of sight. The symphony of gunshots proceeded around them with the occasional shout, but Thomas’s mind was clear; his intentions were clear to the intelligent sniper. He had plans already. Oh, did he have plans. 

  
But he wasn't the only one. 

“Use your resumed brotherhood on the podium. I… hear John Adams will be attending, Xander.” Lafayette addressed Alex in particular, owing to his long-standing rivalry with the head of Media at the bureau. The boy had a funny way of charming his way into everyone’s friend circle. Except that man. 

Alex snorted, walking past Lafayette and Thomas to lead the way. He cast them a glance over his shoulder. 

“The three of us combined couldn’t stop that fat motherfucker from being the world’s largest human mosquito bite.” he sneered.    
Thomas’s lips parted. He watched Alexander stroll into the area behind the shooting platforms; there were some chairs and lockers for ammunition and guns as well as weapon stands and a snack bar back there. And the restrooms, of course. For a beat, Thomas didn’t say anything. They all seemed to know who the boy was disrespecting except Alexander. Thomas uncrossed his arms with an exhale through his nose with the sudden urge to massage his temples, “You can be sure he’s not saying that shit out there today.” Thomas spoke to Lafayette in French, hitting the accents perfectly so that his point was impeccably overt. Lafayette shook his head in wonder. 

“I don’t know how you’re going to keep his mouth closed, but for the love of God, I can’t make him do pushups in front of the press. This one's all you.”   
“I know.”   
“Godspeed, my brother.”   
“Thank you.” Thomas sighed with an exhausted smile, concluding their French exchange to follow Alex. He knew how he would keep his mouth shut. Exactly how. Lafayette watched them go, glazing his tongue over his lips in contemplation. Such an odd and complicated pair, one in a business suit and the other in tactical gear with a glock and a sniper rifle strapped on him. The Frenchman decided he wasn’t going anywhere yet as he headed over to the snack bar. 

  
“So.” Alexander snagged his bag off a chair and slung the strap heavily over his shoulder, looking like a hermit with all that gear on him. He tossed his chin in the air and pivoted on a heel, transitioning smoothly to walk backwards six feet in front of Thomas. His signature sly smile spread comfortably on his face.    
“Update me, driver-boy. Where've you been?” he tucked his hands into his pockets, hips shifting smoothly as he sauntered back. Thomas matched his pace whilst they entered the hall for the bathroom; their footsteps echoed in the uncarpeted space. The man smirked, tossing his chin in the air as well, arching his pretty neck to daunt the boy. 

“Miss me?” he drawled, black eyes glinting in the stark hallway light. His watch sparkled as he rotated it on his wrist.    
“Oh, direly.” Alex dipped his head, placing a hand on the bag strap for support, “Have fun at the spa? Little offended you didn’t ask me to join. Kinda inconsiderate.” he smiled, “Or maybe Hooters. I know how much you love the ladies.” Alex laughed and received an amused nose huff from Thomas.The man peered down on him with those raven eyes, obviously sweeping his body up and down, sizing up his prey like a boa before the strike. 

“You’re one to talk, twink.” His voice was even and calm until his last word, which came out on a harsh snarl. His eyes flashed black for a fleeting moment, darkening on a dime. Alexander’s heart skipped a beat, leaving him a bit breathless and off his guard; his adrenaline was already beginning to pump in his veins. 

“Oh?” Alex cocked his head, lips parted in an obnoxious pout, “ _ You’re  _ a little grumpy today. What’s that about?” he inquired, observing a nail on his thumb to draw attention away from his blatant excitement. Alexander slowed to a stop by the men’s bathroom and stripped off his Blaser with a casual sniff. Thomas stopped on the other side of the door and watched Alex carefully lean his gun against the wall. Nobody would steal it in headquarters. When he’d balanced it against the drywall with a thump, he stood straight and looked up at Thomas. The taller man was leaning against the wall with four fingers in each pocket, and Alexander gulped inconspicuously. 

Thomas blinked down at him, looming. He was doing that same thing with his fingers, just rapping his thumbs in a slow, tapping motion over his upper thigh. An eternity passed between them as Alexander waited for Thomas to say something, to do something. The boy shifted his weight from one foot to the other and scratched awkwardly behind his ear. Thomas was trying to do this; Alex thrived in fast-paced conversation, but leave him stranded in silence, and there was victory for the driver. Eventually Thomas inhaled deeply and let out a slow breath.

“I think you know why I’m a little pissed off, man.” he spoke, tone not matching his harsh choice of words. Alex gave a faint laugh and shrugged. 

“Not really, no.” he sniffed again, looking off to the side for a moment. 

“No?”   
“No.” They exchanged quickly. Thomas scanned him up and down with a billion thoughts racing through his mind. Alexander couldn’t have put all of those guns up by himself; someone had come over last night. And memories of the painful impromptu therapy session with James streaked through his head along with a million other things. Right now, the only shining nugget of clarity was that he knew precisely what was needed for both of them, oh did he ever. 

  
Thomas inhaled again. 

“Alright.” he shifted his weight against the wall, making Alex look back at him. Thomas tossed his head towards the door, “Peek in and see if anyone’s there.”   
“Fuck, dude, a ‘please’ would be nice.”   
  
There were many things in this world that were okay, and  _ that  _ was not it. Thomas only raised a single eyebrow before Alexander was glowering at the ground in frustration. 

“Alrighty then.” he mumbled in a Jim Carrey voice and pushed the door open with his fingertips. Thomas didn’t move or look inside; his eyes were tracking Alexander’s every move. The kid didn’t cast it so much as a sideways glimpse before shrugging snobbishly and giving Thomas an obnoxious glare as he let the door swing closed once again. It slammed with a ringing bang in the echoey hall. 

  
“Empty.” he spoke simply once the reverberations had faded, crossing his arms over his chest and raising his fiery amber eyes to burn into Thomas’s. The man’s lips twitched into a polite smirk, too sweet. 

“Get in.” he hummed, gesturing cooly with his eyes. Alexander’s heart gradually began to pick up the pace, thumping against his ribcage. He drew a breath and pushed the door open once again, not bothering to hold it for Thomas.    
It was a nice place, quality and high-end to match the rest of headquarters. The two-sink, matte black counter was to the left on entry, and the stalls were also lined along the left side, leaving the right open as a waiting space and a wall for abstract concept art. Thomas caught the door with a palm before it swung back into him, and slung it closed behind him with a jarring slam. 

Alex whirled around to face him and dropped his bag to the floor with a dull thump of clothing. 

“You wanted to talk?” he growled, gesturing inconveniently with his hands. Thomas curled a lip. 

“Not what I had in mind, but now that you mention it.” he sneered. Alex’s stomach lurched in a mix of fear and thrilled adrenaline. He had something else in mind? The boy smoothed back his hair. 

“Okay.”   
“First.” Thomas basically cut him off, leaping right in, “I’m not gonna bother myself with an introduction; we’re on a tight schedule so listen up, buttercup. When the fuck did I say you could put three hundred guns on my walls when I was out?” he scoffed. Alexander only grinned like he was proud and leaned up against the flat side of the stall. 

“You like? Took forever.”   
“I was gone for three hours.  _ Three  _ hours and you fuck shit up. And don’t let me get started on whatever the hell kind of excuse for an apology note that was.”   
  
Alex burst out a quick laugh, covering his mouth with a hand and shaking his head. Thomas just stood there and boiled. 

“Finished?”   
Alex released a high-pitched sigh, “Yeah.” he held back a snicker and just took Thomas in, living in the moment. God, every day Thomas was confirming his lust for men in uniform.    
“Good. I’m not.” Thomas clipped, reaching forth to snag the shoulder of the boy’s training shirt. His calm demeanor was abruptly put to an end as he lurched forward, stumbling as Thomas’s fingers dug into his collarbone. 

“What the--”   
“Stand in front of the mirror.” Thomas’s deep grumble interrupted him, screwing up his lips to throw him like a ragdoll and let go. Alex moved to whip around and snarl at Thomas, but before he could do shit, he caught the dom’s eyes in the mirror and they locked in a lurching halt. Alexander’s lips parted. 

The wrath within those midnight irises was so powerful that any inclination to face him was evaporated into oblivion. Holy shit. Thomas was not playing around anymore; his eyes told the whole story and more.    
Alex’s throat bounced as he swallowed, flicking the tip of his tongue to wet his lips and purse them. He didn’t know what he had expected when they agreed to the rule that Thomas could and would punish misbehaviour. Perhaps he’d experienced all bark and no bite for the previous days, but now--by the danger in that gaze--anyone could tell now that their desperation was out of the way, Thomas was finished being pushed around without consequence. Tolerance for that bullshit had shriveled up and died. 

Alex felt surreal, almost out-of-body as he stepped forward in obedience, gliding into full view of the mirror. His heels clicked faintly on the tile floor. The light arrangement above his head cast pretty shadows beneath the peak of his cheekbones and brows, giving him an austere sort of appearance, but he wasn’t focused on his own sandy eyes and slim body, he was far more occupied with the man behind him in the reflection. 

Thomas quietly brushed aside the flaps of his suit to place his hands on his hips. His holster and glock were revealed at his waist, and Alex eyed them with a spurt of adrenaline. Slowly… slowly he took one step forward. He looked down at the ground before raising his gaze to Alexander’s in the glass. The boy’s heart was running full steam ahead, pattering relentlessly in his chest. 

“So.” Thomas rumbled sauntering unhurriedly forth, “Been giving Mr. Lafayette lip this morning? That what’s going on?” he spoke, voice a bit hollow-sounding in the bathroom setting. Alex lifted both hands to pull the hem of his shirt straight. 

“No.” he grumbled. Thomas bit his lip and nodded as if in understanding, still walking up to him in gradual steps. 

“Alright, well that’s not what I heard, so someone’s lying and it’s not Lafayette.” he drawled with his rolling Southern accent that made Alex want to shiver, “Want to tell me the truth?”

Alex stared, unblinking, back at Thomas in the reflection. The man stopped right behind him, and the sniper didn’t dare look over his shoulder, but he could feel him, feel his energy and presence surrounding him, engulfing him. Tension vibrated in the scant space between their bodies, and Alex could smell how clean and fresh Thomas was, feel his heated breath on the back of his neck. 

“Same answer.” Alex responded eloquently with a flick of a brow, slipping his hands out of his pockets to rest at his sides. His fingertips just barely brushed the side of his pants. Thomas’s raven eyes darted from his hands back to his eyes in the mirror, and with the rustle of fabric and air, he inhaled and lifted his hands from his hips, allowing the suit flaps to drape back over his gun. 

“The fuck is wrong with you?” Thomas scoffed, and Alexander jumped. Thomas had just touched him. It was light, gentle, but it was emanating danger due to both those factors. Alex bit his lip, looking down at his chest to see Thomas’s fingertips curling around under his arms to brush one of his most sensitive places. His ribs. 

“Seemed a lot more talkative out there, Allie.” The man grumbled, obviously not understanding what he’d just said, but  _ oh,  _ did Alexander. The boy’s lips curled into a devilish smile, eyes darkening in the shade of the stark light. 

“Perhaps a bit.” he shrugged coyly, lifting his chin once he’d relished in the sound of his name on the man’s lips. Thomas’s head hovered directly over his own, curling over him in a regal, almost… possessive display. Thomas grunted in acknowledgement, tracing his fingers around Alexander’s chest, expanding to use his whole hands now. 

“A little funny how you mouth off with Lafayette, let him put his dirty hands all over you, and as soon as we’re alone that mouth isn’t saying jack shit.” he whispered in an accusatory snarl, running the flat of his hands down Alexander’s front like he was mapping his body, and it. Felt.  _ good.  _ Alex’s eyes actually fluttered at the sensation of Thomas feeling him up, making him--forcing him--to  _ watch  _ as he did so. Those large hands looked huge on Alex’s petite body, smoothing down the fabric against his skin so they could both see the faint suggestion of his nipples. 

“You’re one to talk about dirty hands, shit Thomas.” Alex spoke, his words coming out a little breathier than he intended, so he swallowed to cover, “You got a problem with Frenchie all of a sudden?” he cocked a curious eyebrow. Thomas exhaled right up against his ear, pressing his palms down his belly. 

  
“No. Only when he’s got his hands on my shit.” Thomas grumbled, hot air stirring the baby hairs about his ear. Alexander breathed out a shaky breath that sounded vaguely like, “Oh fuck…” His stomach had dropped and plummeted in his gut with a splash of adrenaline. Thomas being hyper-possessive? A jealous fucking douchebag? Alex could cum his pants right now. Despite his primal urges to devour Thomas where he stood, the boy called upon all the self-restraint in his nineteen-year-old body to stay composed. 

“Your shit? Don’t recall him touching any of your stuff.” The boy blinking in mock confusion. Thomas trailed those warm hands down further… further… Alex’s breath fluttered slightly at the tingling, electric sensation. The man finally paused at the hem of his black shirt, fiddling with it. 

“Don’t you?” he growled, lifting the edge up with a bite of cold wind to the boy’s belly. He swallowed a gasp, instinctively lifting his arms as Thomas whirled his shirt up and over his head; the collar scraped against his face. Alex grunted, wiggling a bit to get it off and gulping for breath when it was. Thomas still seemed eerily calm as he twirled the shirt once, letting it whistle through the air before he dropped it on top of Alex’s bag as of no worth. Alex’s hair was messy and staticky now. 

“This ring a fucking bell?” Thomas rumbled darkly, snaking his hands around Alexander’s hip bones and watching himself in the mirror. Through the glass and the dramatic lighting, Alexander’s bruised hips were exemplified, deep scarlet against his light skin. Thomas breathed out silently, placing his hands firmly on his hips and taking one step forward, pressing him against the front of the sink platform. Alex darted both hands out to hold the edge of the sink so he didn’t collapse forward and knock a tooth out on the faucet or the vase of fake plastic flowers. Thomas pressed himself against Alex so that he could feel…

“Oh? Feisty, Thomas?” Alex laughed lightly, catching his eye in the mirror. The larger man stared at him, straight faced.    
“Mm. Why’d’you ask?” The man drawled and began to slowly, torturously drag a thumb down from Alex’s navel and trail it… further. The kid struggled not to break eye contact, but when Thomas’s finger slipped warmly below his waistband--

“Eyes up. The fuck are you looking at?” Thomas spat hostilely, startling Alex’s overeager eyes up to his own. 

“Dunno, maybe you being a jealous dickbag.” Alex scoffed, irritated at him. Thomas increased the pressure on his hips, on his bruises, just enough to be barely noticeable. Alex bit his lip.    
“Kiss your mom with that mouth?” Thomas dominantly growled possibly the most Southern thing he could say. Alexander laughed, adjusting his grip on the table and regretting what he was about to say before he’d even said it.

“No, but I kiss your mom with it.” 

Alexander expected a violent reaction--perhaps to be slammed against the side of the stall or hurled onto the sink table with a shattering of yet another vase--but Thomas only sighed. 

“Mom jokes? That’s what you’ve come to?” he trailed his hands up between Alex’s ab outline that he only had due to his slim figure. Alex smirked devilishly into the mirror, meeting eyes with Thomas over his shoulder. The boy tossed his hair.   
“Well. What can I say?” he purred charmingly and dipped his head as if in a bowing motion. Thomas huffed a laugh and breathed deeply by his ear, drawing his warm hands up Alexander’s skin. He was gliding his hands up Alex’s side, fingers bumping and dipping between his ribs, and  _ god  _ was he sensitive; the boy squirmed just a bit against him. 

Thomas paused, perking up a bit. He looked down over Alex’s shoulder with a wicked thought, hands over his chest. 

“You sensitive, Hamilton?” he spoke, raising his eyebrows. Alex rapped his nails with a series of clicks on the cool table surface. What a fucking sight to witness, himself bare and exposed waist up in front of Jefferson in a full suit. And his hands were on his body. 

“Maybe.” Alexander hinted, tapping his nails again. Thomas waited until Alex met his eyes; he was patient. When the boy finally did, he kept his hands exactly where they were, and brushed his thumbs lightly over his nipples.   
“Haahhh...” Alexander exhaled shakily, jerking forward from the unexpected contact, contorting and cringing a bit.    
“Question answered.” Thomas grumbled in amusement, refusing to release him and rubbed the pads of his thumbs on the oversensitive skin, stimulating him until he jerked again. 

“Thomas…” he growled a warning through gritted teeth, but the man bent his thumb joints to trace feather-light circles over them. 

“Talking now, are we?” he tried not to laugh at Alex’s struggle, watching him try to squirm away discreetly. The sniper lifted his hands off the table and slid them closer to each other, trying to twist a bit and cut Thomas off. 

“Were you planning on doing something?” he jerked, and Thomas finally released him from the torture, settling his hands back down on his hips, “Cause if you’re just gonna be a fucking douchebag I’ll get in my suit and go to the conference.” 

Thomas tensed up against him and drew back a bit, releasing the pressure off of Alex’s backside. That was unexpected; unless Thomas had something up his sleeve, he was acting suspiciously under-control. The boy gave him a look in the mirror, a bit disappointed and empty at the lack of… mass pressed against him, but the hands were soon on his body once again, settling on his shoulders heavily. This…  _ this  _ was a fucking  _ warning  _ if he ever saw one. 

  
“Alexander.” Thomas blinked cooly in the mirror, his own eyes reflecting the reflection, they were so dark, “For your fucking information, yes. I do have plans. And now I have new ones thanks to your shitty behavior.”   
The man rubbed his hands forward to brush over Alex’s prominent, elegantly curved collar bones with his middle fingers. 

“You’re an arrogant, narcissistic, egotistical pain in my fucking ass. I’m sick of your insufferable bad attitude.” 

“You’re one to talk.” Alex’s eyebrows swooped down at the criticism, but he had no time to look over his shoulder before Thomas’s chin was on top of it. The sniper’s fingernails scraped across the tabletop, gripping it desperately as his heart  _ whammed  _ at the impromptu surge of movement. Thomas’s breath tickled his ear once again, and the man met both of their eyes in the mirror. 

“Watch… Your… Mouth…” he breathed, so slowly, so hotly against his submissive’s ear so that he heard every single punched consonant. Alex didn’t stand down. His hazel eyes darkened, his curvy brows furrowed in the mirror.

“Or what?”    
The lethal question seemed to echo in that tiny bathroom. Thomas was in complete shock. Aex wasn’t even trying to be inconspicuous anymore; he was diving headlong into egregious stupidity. He was shamelessly begging for what Thomas had coming for him, and God would he regret that idiotic decision. The man didn’t have any time to gawk at Alexander. If he was pleading on his knees to be punished, who was Thomas to deny it?

The dom pursed his lips, extending a hand in front of both of them. 

“Give me your hair tie.” he spoke, voice nearly wavering with his resurfacing temper. Alex scowled, lips parting up at Thomas in the mirror.   
“Ex _ cuse  _ me--”   
“Your. Fucking.  _ Hair tie, Hamilton _ .” Thomas snarled, bending the knuckle on his thumb and pressing into the collarbone cleft with the hand that was still up there. Alex craned in on his hand, reacting instinctively to the pain and cringing. 

“Gah!” 

“I won’t ask you again.” Thomas pursed his lips and shook his head as Alex grunted and hooked his finger through the hair band on his wrist. 

“Here, Here, Jesus Christ, Thomas.” he held it over his shoulder, gasping when Thomas released the pressure.    
“Thomas? You think you can first-name-basis me right now?” He shook his head in complete contempt, ripping the hair tie from Alex’s fingers, “You learn really fucking slowly, kid.” He spat and stretched the elastic around his wrist. It disappeared beneath his suit cuff because his hands were busy with something else now. 

Alex could only watch himself, his pale-looking ribs fluttering against his skin in the white light as Thomas Jefferson ran his fingers through his hair with no lack of mercy. His thick fingers gathered the locks over and over, sweeping up the back of his neck and behind his ears to collect the strands. Alex’s head was jerked around roughly as Thomas held the honey-brown mass in one hand and pulled out the hairband.    
  
“You’ve got a nasty habit of abusing that pretty mouth of yours.” Despite everything, Alex felt a little tingling of malicious pride at being called pretty, even in this context. Thomas’s fingers worked, stretching the elastic and twisting it to loop Alex’s silky hair through. There was only the sound of rustling fabric and hair, and Thomas’s breathing in the bathroom. 

“So it’s my fucking turn. What was that filth you said to Lafayette? ‘Not the only thing my tongue is good for’? Prove it.” Thomas split the ponytail and tugged the ends, tightening it against his skull. Alexander’s heart lurched so hard in his chest he thought it’d tear out and plop onto the counter. Oh. So that was what this was. 

Thomas watched as the kid lowered his head and started shaking, body just racking a bit. For a second, the man didn’t know what the fuck was going on, until Alex lifted his face again to see that he was  _ laughing _ . Thomas bared his teeth aggressively. 

“What the fuck is funny, bitch?” he snarled, Alex shook his head, finally turning away from the mirror to face Thomas. The fully clothed man towered above him like a sexy skyscraper, blank expression plastered across his face. The sniper released a high, amused sigh, eyes sparkling. 

“Oh Thomas. Thomas, Thomas, Thomas.” he tutted and shook his head slowly in sympathy. 

“ _ What _ .” The man spat slowly between clenched teeth, more demanding this time. Alex humphed, leaning lazily back with one hand on the counter and extended the other to thumb the blade of Thomas’s black tie.

“I’ll suck your dick if that’s what daddy wants. But your loss.” He shrugged, looking up into Thomas’s eyes and stopping his fiddling on the tie, still holding it loosely. The taller slowly extended both arms with a scuffle of suit fabric and placed a hand on either side of Alex on the counter. The taller man bore down lethally into Alex’s eyes, dominating him with a glance and bobbing his head.    
“What’re you gonna do? Bite my dick off?” he growled, face directly over Alex’s, body brushing his. The boy tilted his up, still snickering quietly to himself. 

“Who knows.” he frowned consideringly at their shoes before meeting his charcoal eyes again, “I’ve heard first blowjobs are unpredictable.” 

Thomas faltered, halting in place above Alex. He blinked. Scanning the kid’s face, he could sense no out-of-the-ordinary malice. Was he fucking around or was this not a joke? Thomas blinked again.   
“What?”   
“Do I have to spell it out, thick-ass?” Alex sighed, but there was still a light smile on his face as he crossed his ankled, “I’ve never given head. So this should be interesting for you, driver-boy.” 

Thomas just…  _ stood  _ there. What the fuck else was he supposed to do? He was over a teenager that was looking him point-blank in the face with this somehow astronomical information that made his dick stiffen uncomfortably against the front of his dress pants. He’d never given head. Why?   
“Why not?” Thomas sneered, shaking his head down at his younger partner in complete bewilderment. Alex shrugged again as if it didn’t matter. 

“My vanilla boy-toys didn’t like the sound of me gagging five seconds in. Got them a little… antsy, so I laid off it.” Alex cocked his head sweetly up at Thomas, trailing his hand down from his tie to ghost over his white shirted belly. The taller man stood still and observed, spectated his sub as his short fingers fell to the buckle and rested there. Alex looked up into his eyes again, and Thomas copied. The sniper smiled with a golden glean in his gaze. 

“Sensitive gag reflex, I found.” he whispered, twirling his nail on the excess leather of the buckle, slow and tantalizing, “But I don’t mind a little pain. I’m a big boy now, Jefferson.” 

“Sir.” Thomas grumbled slowly, breath buffeting Alex’s face and making him blink. Minty, he thought. Fresh. That would taste delicious, but he had a feeling his mouth would be too occupied in T-minus ten seconds. 

“You call me. Sir.”   
“Sir.” Alex echoed almost absentmindedly, pushing the leather through the metal buckle with his thumb and jerking it just a bit to get it to come out of the hole. Thomas stood still, a smug smirk settled calmly on his face as he watched Alexander assume his place, doing all the work like his little servant. A tiny tinkle of metal signaled his success, and the leather belt ends flopped to the side, hanging uselessly at his hips.

“Wow, Alexander. Knew you were a slut, but this is a little promiscuous even for your ass.” Thomas degraded him.   
“Well.” Alex sighed happily, working his fingers at the shiny silver button on his pants, fumbling a bit, “You don’t know the half of it.” he spoke, pushing the button out with a nail so that his pants popped open. 

“Was that a question? Did I ask you something?” Thomas blinked, bemused. Alexander, who had his fingers on the zipper, paused to look up in confusion.    
“No--”   
“Yeah, didn’t think I did. Over there. Stand.” Thomas gestured behind him with his head without ever taking his eyes off Alex. There was a beat of stillness between the two men. Alex leaned against the cold table in incredulity at the unfairness, looked around him and scowled back up at his dom.    
“I can’t move until you do, twatface.” he scoffed, tossing his head angrily at Thomas’s arms entrapping him, but he didn’t move a muscle. The driver just…  _ stood _ there staring at him. There wasn’t a hint of joking left in his dark face. Five long seconds dragged on. Ten. 

Alex parted his lips in rage and rolled his eyes before bending over and ducking under Thomas’s arm like the man wanted. 

“Asshole…” Alex grumbled under his breath, ignoring the burning sensation of Thomas’s gaze following him as he walked over to the opposite wall and turned around. The sniper was forced to watch as this arrogant fuck-face stood in the mirror and actually primped his hair, smoothing it back delicately over his head, raven black against his skin. He took his sweet,  _ sweet  _ time before finally straightening with an exhale and rolling his shoulders back regally. The man turned to face Alexander and sauntered forward nonchalantly, straightening his cuffs.

“Let me make something perfectly clear, Alexander.” he spoke cooly, not looking at him quite yet. Alex tucked his hands in his pockets to seek some warmth as goosebumps spread across his body and made his arm hair stand on end. Tile walls were cold against bare skin, but he tried his best to hide it 

“What’s that?” he inquired casually. Thomas adjusted his tie aristocratically. 

“You’ve gotten lucky not once, not twice, but three times now.”    
“How so?” Alex guided along the conversation, saliva already welling up and pooling under his tongue, so he swallowed. His whole body was responding to Thomas’s desires and he didn’t know whether he liked that or not, but it was all-consuming; the only thing that existed was himself and his driver. Thomas changed route to curl around like a predator circling his prey, and subconsciously Alex knew to give Thomas his spot. They circled each other slowly, heels clicking on the slick floor. Thomas’s lips twitched at Alex doing exactly as he wanted without even being told to do so, but now wasn’t a time for praise, he had a crucial point to put forth.

“This is the third time I’m not going to torture you in the way I’d like to, because I am lacking my… provisions.” Thomas drawled, standing in front of the wall with Alex only a foot before him. Thomas swept him up and down, because shit, he was orgasm-inducing. Bruises on his hips, that black abomination blooming on his neck above his beautiful collarbones, and ribs that looked like they were sculpted by god. Thomas beckoned him forward with one finger, and the kid gave him an irritable glance before obeying, hands still in his pockets. 

“You’re not going to like this, yes, but  _ you _ need to understand how lucky you’ve been so far in this, bitch.” Thomas exemplified, “No way I’d be so lax on you later, so note that now. No way.”    
“Don’t know what I don’t know, man.” Alex stopped inches from Thomas; he could feel his radiating heat on his bare belly and chest.    
“Shut up.” Thomas snapped violently, reaching around Alexander. The kid grunted in surprise as Thomas sized the base of his short ponytail roughly, digging his fingers under the hairband to wrench him mercilessly to the ground.    
“Get on your knees.” he screwed up his lips, eyes brimming with dark wrath as he used the other hand to violently unzip his dress pants. They had time, twenty minutes of it. Alex panted heavily, lowering to one knee and then the other, the “thunk” echoing in the bathroom. He walked forward on them one step to fumble up at Thomas’s waistband, searching desperately for the top of his boxer briefs. 

“What if someone walks--”   
“Then they’ll see you on your knees like a fucking whore, problem?” Thomas snarled viciously, wrenching Alex’s wrist aside to do it himself. The taller man found the waistband of his black Lacoste boxer briefs and tugged them down enough for Alex to do the rest. The boy urgently pushed the flaps of Thomas’s suit aside with the clink of his belt, tucking them behind him and diving straight for his cock. 

Thomas’s gaze shot up, and he met his own eyes in the mirror because he had to look away when he felt Alex’s fingers curl around his shaft and pop it out. The cool air kissed his delicate skin as Alex held his cock in his palm just to feel it throb. He was rock-fucking-hard, swollen and ready, and Alexander knew it with a sly smile. Thomas readjusted his grip and tightened around Alex’s hair. 

“Waiting for something?” he growled threateningly, “Want an instruction manual?”    
“Shut up.” Alex huffed disgruntledly and didn’t have the prep time to anticipate the flat-palmed slap on his cheek.    
“Ah…” he flinched, grimacing as the pain lanced up his face. It was more of a warning than anything else, and he placed a hand over his cheek where he’d been struck. Thomas bared a canine. 

“That’s a  _ warning,  _ Alexander. Use your whore mouth as I said, and check yourself.” Thomas warned darkly, pulling Alex’s head towards his cock by the hair, “You don’t know this, you fucking virgin, but a face-fucking is a hell of a lot worse than a blowjob, and I don’t give two shits which one I do.” he lambasted, Alexander finally whimpered, perhaps completely by accident, as he scooted forward again, hazel eyes flicking over Thomas’s swollen cock and the throbbing vein. Thomas kept his hand steady in the sub’s hair in case he needed additional persuasion to obey blatant commands. 

Alex swallowed, throat bouncing beautifully as he lifted his bare arms; he curled one firmly up around Thomas’s hips, grabbing his waistband behind his back, and he closed his fingers around Thomas’s cock with the other. It was warm, and the skin was smooth as it twitched against his palm and made him smirk. Thomas could hide it well, but he was aching to get in Alex’s mouth; they both knew that and said nothing about it. 

The sniper inhaled a deep breath and prepared himself for whatever the hell he was about to do, whether it be entertaining or a teeth-scraping catastrophe. Perhaps both. 

Thomas stared down at him, unable to believe his eyes as he watched Alexander pump his cock slowly, hand just moving at the base while he ran his tongue once over his lips, wetting them. He breathed out, hot breath falling on Thomas’s cock and parted his curly lips. Thomas couldn’t look away as he moved forward, opening his mouth and making contact with their skin. 

“Hhh…” Thomas exhaled deeply, leaning his back up against the wall to relax his legs a bit. Alex shuffled on his knees and followed him, sucking the tip into his mouth, past his wet lips and holding it there. Thomas wanted to flutter his eyes in a way he  _ never  _ did, but he wouldn’t risk missing a piece of this experience. He kept his gaze trained on Alex as he tested the waters, holding his tip still on his searing, wet tongue, but still absently pumping the base in slow strokes as if he was thinking. 

Alexander was lucky. Thomas was probably the most hygenic, overall clean person on the face of the planet, and hairless. Anyone in history would vote to give Thomas their first BJ, hands down, but the only teeny tiny obstacle was, well, the object that was nine inches from being teeny tiny. He moved his mouth experimentally around the tip, feeling it in there. It was warm, for starters, almost oddly warm sitting there on his tongue. He inhaled through his nose, shifting his weight on his knees as he took a bit more into his mouth, feeling past the tip and wetting the first two inches of Thomas’s cock. When it twitched in his mouth, Alex blinked.

“Hey. What did daddy tell you about eye contact?” Thomas warned dangerously, and Alex stopped watching his own hand to peek up at him. He felt incredibly short on his knees before this Eiffel Tower of a man, and the latter couldn’t get enough of him. Seeing Alex’s wide eyes meet his own from below, just the very end of his cock in his mouth, those pretty, smug lips wrapped around his girth… 

Alex shifted it to the side and swished it around in there, wanting to taste. He remembered to keep stroking Thomas’s base rhythmically as he rubbed his tongue along the bottom, sucking experimentally as he did so. If warm was a taste, this was it, but there was also the faint tangy aftertaste of soap--probably not a bad sign--and skin. He might as well have been giving a hickey; it was the same taste.

After some exploratory nursing on the tip, Alex tentatively decided that yes, he liked it, at least for now. He twitched a provocatively wicked brow up at Thomas--sure to make eye contact--before he sucked off the head with a pop, cheeks vibrating after he’d tried hollowing them out for the first time. A release and re-grip of Thomas’s hand in his hair paired with another deep voiced sigh proved that his attempt hadn’t been misguided. 

He smiled, a bit breathless as he swiped a forearm over his forehead and looked up at Thomas. Glistening saliva shone on his cock in the bathroom light, a tiny collection at the tip about to drip off. Alex cleared his throat and went back in, licking it up back into its place of origin. Thomas closed his eyes for a moment and silently mouthed, “Shit…” It was just something about the way Alex did it. It wasn’t trained and artificial like his usual customers; it was very real, imperfect, almost as if the purity of the first time was captivating, spellbinding. 

That belief was affirmed as Alex ran the searing flat of his soaked tongue down the bottom of Thomas’s shaft in one long lick, tasting the whole shaft. He made a noise, a probably-accidental little whimper as he lapped in uneven licks all the way back up to the tip, wetting all of him. Every time he made contact with his skin it was like scalding euphoria, tingling and so utterly satisfying. Thomas kneaded his hair again loosely, giving him mostly free rein. He was being incredibly,  _ incredibly  _ lenient, and he wouldn’t let that go without saying. He’d allow Alexander the privilege of testing the waters, dipping his toe in and checking the temperature before Thomas intervened. As soon as he started splashing and horsing around, Thomas would round on him like nothing the kid had ever seen and put him right back on his ass--in his place. 

As if on cue, Alexander peered up at him with a smile, his lips red and wet, “How am I doing, driver-boy?” he breathed, obviously fishing for flattery. Thomas shamed him with his glower.    
“If I want to give my opinion, I’ll give it to you without asking.” he snarled, pushing Alex’s head back towards his cock and pressing the tip on his smug lips. Alexander kept his eyes up this time and let the swollen head break past his barrier, opening up for the first few inches once again. 

“My answer is you look like you’re avoiding more than two inches.” 

“Mmm.” Alexander furrowed his brows in annoyance and hummed indignantly on his cock, which had an unexpected effect on his dom to say the very least. The man clenched up his hand in his hair, legs stiffening at the vibrating sensation. That was… wow. This was news to Alex, who was not the sort of little rat to let a weakness like that slide. His anger quickly faded.    
“Hmm...Mm…” he hummed again, closing his eyes blissfully as he gripped the slippery, spitty shaft and pumped, picking up the pace a bit this time. Despite the pleasure reverberating up his shaft to his belly, Thomas had zero fucking tolerance for disobedience.

“Hey cumslut, were my orders for a handjob, or do you want me to treat you like a fucking bitch?” he snarled, jerking Alex’s head forward without warning. The boy’s face slid up on Thomas’s cock about five inches, and he  _ choked. _

It felt good, plunging deeper into his hot, fluttering throat, but within a second he was out in the chilly air again. Perhaps it was even worth it, he pondered as a smirk twitched his lips. Alex coughed, eyes watering up with the pricking of tears that ensued when the gag reflex is triggered.    
“Haah…. Mm.” Alex’s sputtering ended with a high-pitched whimper, breathing in and out until he was generally composed, but that was Thomas’s decision. The taller man pushed Alex’s head back onto his cock, popping in past his lips again to feel the engulfing, soft warmth. 

“Fuck…” he hissed--out loud this time--as he leaned himself against the hard wall and stared down at Alexander with parted jaws. Alex shifted once again from one knee and back to the other on the tile floor, obviously in pain, but Thomas couldn’t care less. Not when he knew that Alex was relishing in it. 

  
The boy panted hotly through his nose, breathing heavy as he squeezed his eyes shut and came down on Thomas’s cock again, letting it slide in down his throat, five inches once more. He opened his mouth wide, gagging, but just vented his frustration with his pumping hand, jerking Thomas faster now, gripping harder so there was a dirty slicking sound when he stroked. The kid wasn’t a quitter, Thomas realized as he held his hand still and tried again to come down and meet the top of his hand, getting maybe two inches away before choking a gargling gag, pulling up off it while his eyes brimmed. The struggle was blissful for both of them--Thomas spectating while Alex pulled off, two strands of spit connecting his lips and Thomas’s tip. That was finally enough, and a pearl of precum leaked from the slit of the head, beading up and dripping down towards the bottom. Thomas watched passively, no less prepared to give commands.   
“Clean it up, Allie.” he ordered tersely, nails scraping along Alex’s scalp as he pulled him closer. The boy sniffled, and looked up into Thomas’s eyes submissively, blinking into the light to see his face. Thomas shook his head lightly as Alex sucked back onto his tip, licking up the excess spit and precum. He saw Alex blink a bit at the bitter taste, eyes fluttering in surprise. They were glistening and full to the brim with tears threatening to spill over from gagging away. He shuffled again on the ground and finally licked off his cock. 

“I need something to kneel on, man, this is tile.” his voice echoed breathlessly in the men’s room.   
“And this is a face that doesn’t care.” Thomas responded in dominant override, “I want bruises on both knees before the conference. No exceptions.” Alex growled, tightening his arm around Thomas’s waistband and abruptly pushed his cock back into his mouth, trying more desperately. It was almost like that was the spark of motivation he needed--some incentive to work harder. 

He scowled and moved both hands up to grip Thomas’s hips now, abandoning efforts to jerk off Thomas’s shaft. He wouldn’t need it if he was going to get there himself, so he held onto the belt for leverage. Thomas leaned deeper into the wall letting his chin fall to his chest to stare at Alexander on his knees. His bare belly danced rapidly with heavy breath against his magazine belt, which was still low on his hips, and he gazed down at the sight of his hand tangled in his ponytail, guiding his bobbing head. Alex cocked it to see if it was easier, exposing his jawline but he swiveled back to normal position. 

His lips were red stretched around his girth and hot damn… it should be fucking impossible--or at least illegal--to be that pretty. Alexander kept coughing throatily, unable to stay quiet as he tried to maintain the rhythm that Thomas was promoting with his strong hand. The kid glanced up at Thomas like he knew he was supposed to, and his lashes were dark and clumped together with dampness; Thomas made a mental note to give him eyeliner next time so that it would run. His chin was glistening with spit as he squeezed his eyes shut and choked gutturally, pulling quickly off Thomas’s cock with hollowed cheeks to breathe. The man shifted his feet on the tile floor, pressing his back against the wall to watch him gasp and pant, inhaling shaky breaths.    
“Did I say stop?” Thomas spat, and Alex glared at him, tears in his angry eyes when he came forward again and sucked on the tip, sticking out his tongue along the bottom. 

“Didn’t fucking think so.” The driver nodded curtly, readjusting his grip in his hair before pushing him again, feeling the tingling, warm, tight sensation of plunging deeper into his mouth. Alex whimpered pathetically, muffled around the cock in his mouth, but managed to not pull off, just kept pressing down and back up, getting into a quicker rhythm. 

“Good boy…” Thomas grumbled, watching Alex work feverishly, desperately, leading with his chin and nodding as he took him into his throat over and over again. His brows were turned up pitifully as he worked, air hissing rapidly in and out of his nose in exasperated huffs. His teeth and molars grazed Thomas’s shaft every so often, but the man was no pussy; he could take a little pain with his pleasure just as well as the slut on his knees for him. Alex’s fingers squeezed his belt and pulled himself forward with a tinkling of metal, coming down further than ever on his cock. 

He gagged deeply, but he kept going, relenting for only two seconds before doing it again. Thomas slowly… slowly leaned his skull back against the wall with a quiet thump, rocking his hips the tiniest bit into Alex’s face. He stood there, eyes closed against the wall and felt his breathing start to become heavy and labored under the pleasure. His deep breathing was amplified in the bathroom, and it ignited Alexander. The man would never in his life be a moaner like Alex, so heavy breathing was a green light. The kid scooted closer on his knees to signal that yeah, he was going to go deeper all right. 

Thomas responded with another hand in his hair, clenching and bunching up the side for more leverage. He pushed him down, only a couple inches from his base, and Alex coughed viciously and tried to pull off, but Thomas had him firm. 

“Hey. Stop being a fucking brat.” the man addressed him, scolding ruthlessly and taking control of his movements once again. Alexander  _ whined,  _ screwing up his eyes as he took it. A tear slipped down his cheek and pearled down to his chin with the excess spit. Thomas parted his lips for a ragged breath. 

“And quit crying or I’ll give you something real to cry about. I’m not fucking around.” he spoke through clenched teeth, stringy jaw muscles grinding as he rolled his hips and pulled Alex’s head down in synchonization. For the first time, he took his entire shaft. It. Was. Heavenly. Like a breath of fresh air after never realizing you were breathing through a mask. Thomas’s eyes fluttered closed, struggling not to roll a bit as he felt Alex’s nose press against his belly, the warm wetness of his lips meeting with the nerves at the base. Alex’s body trembled with pained pleasure when anyone else would despise this. 

“Mm!” he whimpered sharply, throat bouncing as he choked gutturally and tried to squirm off. Thomas was having none of it and  _ held  _ him there. 

“I want you to remember this when we’re on the podium, capiche?” Thomas spoke, growling raggedly. Alex whimpered shrilly, trying to toss his head against Thomas’s grip but he was stuck.    
“And next time you want to bring someone over when I’m out of the house. Yeah, I fucking know, so don’t try me. Ever. Again.” he clipped as Alex’s gag reflex triggered again, and his body jolted, heaving dryly. His eyes shot up to Thomas, wide and pleading as tears rolled down his messy face, blinking them out to splatter on his naked chest.

“Today, you mouth off and I’ll do exactly what I said I was going to do last night. And It is going to hurt. A lot. I’m talking screaming and crying for mercy, so don’t think I won’t fucking do it.” he pulled his cock out, bouncing a bit in the chilly air, and Alex gasped in a shuddering breath that hitched in his throat. He stuttered, bringing one hand to his throat to  _ hack  _ a cough that rang in the tiled bathroom. Thomas couldn’t wait too long for him to recover, but he gave him a good five seconds. The boy breathed shakily, staring at the ground, trembling. When he finally raised his head, Thomas saw that he was grinning. He was a mess, but  _ fuck  _ was he a hot one. Tears spilling down his face and drool on his chin, he still managed to look like a goddamn model

“We’re… d-doing this again…” his voice cracked as he sputtered the words out, massaging his throat gently. Thomas pursed his lips in frustrated disappointment, twisting his hair painfully in his hands to draw out a whine. 

“Not your  _ fucking  _ decision. Stop talking.” He spat, despite being in accordance with his words. Alex messily slobbered on his cock, trying his best to take it all, but Thomas had to provide the assistance that was needed. Alex was only allowed to screw his eyes shut and take it because Thomas’s were closed too. The older bit his lip, concentrating to methodically push Alex’s head onto his length over and over again, speeding up enough to give him a sore throat after this was all over. And it wasn’t looking like it was going to be much longer. 

Alex could physically sense Thomas getting close. The vein against the corner of his mouth was throbbing so hard he could feel it. Thomas’s sizable cock was so warm and smooth against his lips, so soft; he knew the man had some wicked stamina, but he could get it done right here and now. The sniper made sure of that. 

He readjusted his grip on Thomas’s unclasped leather belt to keep himself in place and took Thomas using his face as a fleshlight with a wet clicking noise every time he hit home, getting deepthroated. Alex dug his fingers into the leather, slipping off of it and grasping instead to the waistband of his pants as he hummed deeply, moaning on his cock, vibrating it, and plunged his head down to press his face against Thomas’s belly. 

  
“Shit…” The man hissed, clenching up at the reverberating tingle of the vibration. Alex’s teeth grazed him on the way down, but it didn’t matter; the kid had his entire cock down his struggling, fluttering throat, mouth stuffed full. Alex kept humming even around another gargling gag, and he knew he had succeeded when Thomas’s hand wrenched his hair, clenching and twisting so vicious it was painful. 

“Fuck, Allie.” Thomas spat, shoving his back and head up against the wall with a scraping of fabric as he climaxed right when Alex was pulling out. The kid flinched, squeezing his eyes shut and opening his mouth wide with his pretty pink tongue sticking out all the way to his chin. A warm ribbon of cum made it halfway in his mouth and half on his cheek as Thomas kneaded his hair and pulled him back, panting hotly and heavily while he cummed in his mouth. Alex whimpered, closing his lips around the tip and felt the hot spurt of cum bloom on his tongue, tangy and salty as it shot powerfully directly into his mouth, taking him aback a bit, but not too much for him to suck off yet. 

Thomas growled through his breathing and finally looked down beneath him over his heaving, white-shirt-and-tie clad chest to witness the sights through his post-orgasm dizziness. Alex replaced one of his hands on his cock, jerking the last squirts of cum into his mouth, and sensing that Thomas was looking at him, Alex tilted his face up as his arm shook back and forth.    
Thomas exhaled a breath that sounded a bit like “JesusChristAllie…” as those hazel eyes stared right up into his dark, soaked lashes and a strip of cum on his cheek as he slobbered a bit clumsily on his cock, pulling off with strands of cummy spit connecting the tip of his cock with Alex’s mouth. The younger sniffled, nodding his head as he tried to swallow and mostly succeeded, washing down the scalding liquid. 

“Clean up, bitch.” Thomas growled lowly, “And what do you say to me?” He shifted his weight on his feet while Alex lapped and licked at any cum left on his cock, pink tongue shining against his wet skin. The kid took a peek up at him, lips red and swollen when he smirked. 

“You’re welcome.” he spoke sweetly, and Thomas tore a hand out of his hair to smack it up against his throat. Alexander choked as the fingers curled around his delicate area. Alex squirmed on his knees.    
“One more try, shall we?” Thomas snarled, digging his nails into his soft flesh, “What do you say?”   
Alex coughed, mouth wide open for breath and panic in his eyes.

“Thank you.” Thomas didn’t release, just bore down on him, looming with radiation of intoxicating dominance. Alexander didn’t understand for a few moments before the lightbulb went off. 

“Sir.” he sputtered, smacking a hand down on Thomas’s clothed wrist, “Than-thank you sir.” he choked a sharp gasp that echoed when Thomas released him, but when he looked up, Thomas’s head had snapped to the side as violent as if someone had attempted to break his neck. His vein on the side of his neck popped, throat heaving as he panted with wide eyes.    
Alex looked to the side, face kind of slapping into Thomas’s cock before he heard exactly what he needed to hear to know what the fuck was going on. 

The door creaked open and bounced, held by the tip of a leather shoe. Alexander couldn’t breathe for a terrifying, horrifying beat of utter silence. Both men were caught, deer in headlights.    
“Ff--Shit!” Thomas scrambled to stand up straight, finding Alex’s hands and yanking them off his hips. The momentum threw Alex back and he fell straight down onto the side of his ass with a thud. 

“Aughhhh…” Alex screwed up his face and groaned at smacking down to the tile floor, as Thomas desperately stuffed his cock back into his pants, shielding himself with his suit and fumbling for the zipper. Towering, composed, a man just stood there in the doorway, keeping it open with his foot while he slowly… slowly crossed his arms over his chest. 

Alex stayed there on the ground, forearm against the freezing tile and belly fluttering frantically as his eyes traveled up the pant leg, up the muscular torso, all the way up to the blonde head of hair and fair-skinned face to see  _ Lafayette  _ standing above them. The blue eyes blinked, not a single fleck of surprise hidden within them as he just…  _ stood _ , not uttering a single word. Thomas panted, still a bit frazzled from his orgasm as he whipped back around to face Lafayette, hands buckling his belt with a clinking of metal at his front. The Frenchman was a statue, lifting one toe to let the door groan closed, swinging behind him and slamming shut with a reverberating bang like a gunshot. 

In the echoing moments that followed, nobody made a fucking sound. Holy mother of God...The tension was so thick that it was suffocating. Alex swallowed, the salty aftertaste of cum coating his mouth as he blinked from Lafayette to Thomas. The Frenchman and the driver were  _ staring  _ at each other as if Alex wasn’t even there. What… this? Finally, Lafayette parted his lips and spoke. 

“So.” he looked to each of them,  _ hugely  _ unimpressed, “When I say to make an agreement, this is the best thing you came up with.” he blinked slowly, completely displaying disappointment as his strong emotion this time. Thomas fed the end of his belt through the loop, stuffing it there angrily. 

“This is none of your concern, Gilbert.” his voice was edged with a barely distinguishable hint of hostility, letting go of his belt roughly and tossing his suit in front of his body again, shrugging it on. The Frenchman rolled his eyes up to the ceiling for a moment, inhaling deeply.    
“Do not do that, Toma.” he shook his head, and Thomas just gave him those dark, imposing eyes, rolling his shoulders strongly back. Alex looked back and forth between them, a little stirring of entertainment brewing in his chest. This dynamic was rather…  _ interesting _ ; anyone else would find this situation cataclysmically humiliating, but Alexander saw nothing but another chance to peek inside everyone’s head _. _

Alex coughed, drawing attention to himself, and when both eyes were staring down on him, half naked on the floor. He held up his hands innocently, “Alright gentlemen, let’s all just relax.” he spoke charismatically, lowering the hands in a relaxing motion, but Lafayette would have none of it. He scowled down at Alex, the boy’s body laid out like he was tanning on the beach, collarbones popping sexily.

“For God’s sake, boy, get up.” he clipped, nodding expressively at his lounged position. He made a face when he saw the cum on his face, “And wash that off your face.  _ Bon dieu _ , you Americans say France is an immodest place.” He shook his head in exhaustion, supervising Alex as he stood, ribs showing at his sides.

  
“Ay.” Thomas piped up with an edge of sharpness in his tone, taking the lead and placing his hands on his hips to push his suit aside, “Don’t tell him what to do.” His tone was completely cool and collected, but his brows were pulled down darkly, shading his black eyes. Alexander froze, standing with his back to the mirrors. Woah. The kid quietly leaned up against the sink, daintily lifting his hands to rest on the edge. Lafayette turned his face to Thomas and parted his shapely lips in shock.

“ _ Excusez-moi _ ?” He scoffed in completed offense, shocked. Thomas tapped his fingers on his hip and kept his eyes trained on Lafayette, lips parted and tongue poking the side of his cheek in a manner that was definitely dominating.   
“I requested that you kindly back off, Gilbert. If I want him to do something, I’ll ask.” Thomas spoke clearly, moving his mouth exaggeratedly when he talked so that Lafayette could understand every piece of what he was saying. And perhaps catch a glimpse of those canines. 

In the shocked silence that ensued, Alexander’s parted lips twitched with a smirk. His golden eyes glinted with pleasant surprise in the stark light, but he was free to watch this completely unexpected show. Thomas and Lafayette stared at each other, their chests rising and falling cooly was the only movement. As the seconds ticked away, it seemed as if they were just going to standoff with each other for the rest of the night. And over… what exactly? Lafayette was the first to understand the ludicrousy of this situation. He blinked, uncrossing his arms. 

“So. What is this? Don’t even try to give me--what you call it?--’bullshit’, or I will know. I want the truth, then I want you two dressed,” he turned his face to Alexander, who was leaning in the way that showed off his pretty figure, but Lafayette didn’t even look twice, pleasing Thomas at least a tiny amount, “I want you clean, and I want you in the Press Room five minutes before starting time: groomed, prepared, camera-ready, and treating each other like professionals, not like  _ jouets sexuels.  _ Are my words perfectly clear?” He raised his chin, shooting a knife-like glares at both of them like a disappointed father. 

Thomas was the one that seemed like he wanted to say what was on his mind, but he was too sensible for that. Lafayette nodded at Alex, turning his attention to Thomas. 

“And you.” he spoke in English, to Alex’s surprise, “I may only be three days your senior, Toma, but I am your superior and you will treat me as one, _ comprenez vous _ ? Whether or not you two are my best agents is of no relevance. “ he glanced between them, and Thomas’s fingers slowly constricted against the fabric on his hips, trying to rein in that temper before he did something rash, but Alex could see it boiling up; he could  _ feel  _ it. Anyone who tells Thomas off was going to have a bit of a problem on their hands. If ever there was a man who was difficult to give orders to, it was Jefferson; he hissed at orders like a tomcat at a cold bath. 

Lafayette sniffed, placing his hands up on his strong hips. 

“Describe to me what this is. Because I don’t have time for games, and you two should not either.” he scolded paternally before shaking his head, “I cannot believe this  _ connerie.”  _ he mumbled, blonde ponytail swishing as he waited for one of them to give him a response, rosy cheeks a bit flustered from his passionate scolding. Alexander cocked his chin in the air, deciding he would take the reins. 

“A mutual agreement my friend.” he spoke, tossing his hair from his now-clean face (nobody had to know that he had pushed the… residue into his mouth to tidy up). Lafayette’s blue eyes scanned him up and down, pursing his lips in request for more information. 

Alexander inhaled calmly and shifted his hips to lean deeper against the table; he pulled up a hand to look at his nails. 

“Since we made amends, Agent Jefferson and I have been far more comfortable with each other.”   
“That. Is obvious.” Lafayette raised an eyebrow and cleared his throat lightly. Alex grinned and bit his lip for a moment.    
“Fair.” he huffed a tiny laugh and cast a glance over to Thomas, who was still on edge, catching his black eyes before twitching his lips in a coy smirk. 

“My boyfriend. I want to… pleasure him in that way, and I needed some practice. Thomas was willing to… help me out.” Alex crossed his arms over his bare chest and shrugged, looking back to Lafayette with just the right amount of suggestive embarrassment to make it sound like the truth. Thomas’s gut wrenched inside of him with a strange emotion that fit somewhere under the outrage-umbrella, and he stared at Alexander. This fucking teenager was twirling lies exactly how he knew would put them on top, but Alexander just a  _ teensy  _ bit higher. Bastard. He was the bastard of bastards. 

“Your boyfriend. Who?” Lafayette grunted, testing him. Alex blinked like that was an easy one, “John Laurens. Recruitment Department.”   
“Ah.” Lafayette nodded, rapping his fingers over his hip again and shifting awkwardly. He really didn’t expect his day to go in this direction when he’d woken up this morning--interrogating his teenage trainee in a public bathroom about his relationships after catching him sucking the nut out of his six-year-older agent partner. Now that he thought about it, what the flying fuck? He shook his head, comprehending the lunacy. 

“I don’t care if this is one-time or repeated, it is not my place.  _ Mon dieu _ , this is not in my job contract...” he sighed.    
“Correct.” Thomas finally contributed collectedly, standing poised in his uniform suit to tower down on both of them. Lafayette cast him a raised eyebrow, but he didn’t back down, so the trainer had no choice but to ignore it. 

“ _ As long as  _ it does not affect  _ my  _ training or  _ your  _ mission, gentlemen, I don’t care. As soon as that happens.” he snapped his fingers, the crack echoing on the tiles, “I report to Washington the reason for failure in the workplace.”    
“Sounds fair to me. Thomas?” Alex sniffed, trying to reel him back in and get this the fuck overwith. Thomas gave Alex a slow glance of a million biting, vicious words. He was  _ mad _ , all right. 

“Rather.” Thoams responded dryly, refusing anymore feedback. Lafayette lifted a finger to scratch his lip and sighed. 

“Well.” he huffed, clearly wanting out, “Get dressed, look like adults, don’t let me see such horrors  _ ever _ again, is that clear? I require Holy Water for my eyes.” He looked to Thomas one last time, “And Toma, find another place to get  _ une fellation  _ other than curious teenagers. I am disappointed in both of you for that. Especially at work.  _ Honte. _ ” he scolded like a father. 

  
“Well.” Thomas sniffed, shifting his weight to the other foot and looked back up with a cocked head, “Find somewhere else to put your hands.” he spoke cooly in response, dipping his head just the slightest degree.

Alex’s jaws parted, looking to Thomas who didn’t return it. No. Mother. Fucking. Way. He had to be asleep right now; this wasn’t real. The boy was speechless, but a hot emotion stirred in his gut, anger. Lafayette pursed his lips tightly and bore his eyes right back into Thomas’s as he nodded. Just bobbing his head.

After ten, long, drawn out seconds of this, Alex heaved a sigh and slapped his palms down onto the table. He pushed off of it to bring himself to standing, and Thomas and Lafayette looked over at him, reluctant to shatter their standoff. Alex grunted, bending over to snag the strap of his bag and hoist it up onto the sink counter; it landed there with a thump and rustle of fabric and clinking hangers within. The men said nothing, so Alex glanced at them through the mirror before he spoke. 

“Pardon me, gentlemen. Just thought I’d get dressed while you two finish up your staring contest.” 

He looked down and yanked the zipper past the tough part that always gave him difficulty, “Again.” he added in monotone, giving the next glance just to Thomas, a sneer threatening at the corner of his lips. His dom shook his head so….slowly while he straightened a cuff on the way to cross his arms. Alexander was beginning to press the man, pushing his luck; what else was new? Thomas watched Alex unbuckle his mag belt and plop it up on the table with his bag, and he licked his lips and inhaled inaudibly to speak to Lafayette without looking at him.

“Mr. Lafayette if I may have a word with Agent Hamilton.” He spoke politely, obviously about to blow a fucking capillary. The Frenchman pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh. 

“Gladly.” he clipped with an edge of hostility, “Get dressed quickly; we’re on a tight schedule and I have Washington breathing down my neck.  _ Rapidement. _ ” 

“Thank you.” Thomas replied, jaw grinding while he watched Alex fish out his black leather Saint Laurent suit bag and turn to hang it on the side of the stall with a click. The boy was staring point-blank at Thomas, dead in the eyes when Lafayette cast them both a skeptical glance and turned away, letting the door bang shut behind him. It echoed and faded gradually, leaving the two in complete silence. 

“Thomas, can I ask you a question.” Alexander curled his lip and scoffed, breaking the ice. Thomas didn’t move a muscle; he was made of cold, hard stone as he loomed across the bathroom, arms crossed over his chest. Alex glared and swiped the zipper of his suit bag aggressively, rattling the whole setup. 

“What the  _ fuck  _ is wrong with you?” he spat, letting go so that it swung and scraped over the stall side. Thomas’s dark brow  _ stormed  _ with rage at the insult. 

“Ex _ cuse  _ me--”   
“I had us covered, jackass.” Alexander snarled, reaching up and yanking his white button-up shirt from its hanger, “I put it off as a one time screw-up so he wouldn’t ask again, and your dumbass has to go and fuck shit up. Kudos to you man, great fucking work.” he punched his profanity sharply, giving a resigned shake of his head and shrugging his shirt jerkily over his shoulders. Thomas slowly uncrossed his arms and  _ glowered  _ with absolute unhidden fire. 

“Pardon me,  _ fuckhead, _ but I don’t think I know what the hell you’re talking about.”   
“Like hell you do, Thomas.” Alexander gave him a patronizing, mocking look while he rapidly buttoned up his shirt, shrouding his belly and chest. 

“‘Don’t tell him what to do’, ‘find somewhere else to put your hands’? Jesus Christ, Jefferson, you really are subtle as a bull in a china closet, aren’t you?” 

“What are you even talking about?” Thomas spat harshly, opening his hands in rage, “You’re the asshole trying to make me look like a goddamn fool. ‘Jefferson was willing to help me out’?! What the hell was that?” 

“You do a good enough job yourself, pussyboy.” Alex sneered quietly in disgust, kicking off his shoes in a hot and bothered manner. Thomas suddenly took a lunging step forward and stopped himself with a squeak of leather sole on tile floor, clenching his hands in front of him in a motion like he wanted to just  _ throttle  _ Alex where he stood and was fucking  _ itching  _ do to it.    
“I swear to God, Hamilton.” he breathed a snarl, lifting his hands to run through his hair and turn to the wall, “I swear to fucking God, if I didn’t use every  _ fucking _ fiber of self restraint in my body.” He panted, briefly placing a hand on the wall to compose himself, suit lifting up a bit to show his attractive sides. Alex just snorted obnoxiously, yanking down his pants and kicking them lazily off his foot. 

“Yeah? Where was this  _ ‘godly’  _ self restraint ten seconds ago when you were about to get the snot beaten out of you by French boy, huh? Didn’t seem so goddamn mature then.” 

Thomas rolled his head back on his neck and squeezed his eyes shut, begging God for the strength not to snap the kid’s neck like a toothpick. His forearm was on the wall next to his head and he silently clenched his hand into a knuckle-cracking fist, and unclenched. 

Alex whipped his belt from where it was draped like a snake over the hanger. And speaking of snakes…

Thomas gave him a scalding sideways glance, but the kid was too busy looping his leather through the loops of his well-fitted black dress pants. His brow darkened. Thomas remembered that belt. It was Alexander’s cachet accessory of choice, a Gucci belt with a golden snake as the buckle itself. Alex fed it through in jerking movements, finding the stiff excess and fastening it snugly around his petite hips. 

  
“Alright, while you mull that over, big boy, let’s get something fucking straight.” he sniffed, buckle clinking as he finished and turned away from Thomas to reach into his bag that was still on the sink counter. He produced his rolled up tie and unfurled it in one smooth motion. He didn’t give Thomas so much as a glance in the mirror as he stood tall and self-collected, ducking under the tail of the strip of fabric and adjusting it on his neck. 

“They’re going to ask, Jefferson. Both of us, and you know it.” he spoke darkly, almost a snarl. Across the bathroom, Thomas slowly… slowly turned back around to face him. Alex’s little fingers worked at the tie, tossing and flopping it over while he knotted it. 

“We both know they’re gonna ask, so you need to get your shit together now before we’re up there.” 

Thomas shook his head, seething with rage. 

“Alexander, you had better  _ stop  _ talking,  _ right… now _ ...” his voice was  _ dripping  _ with warning, soaked in it like black tar. Alex lifted his chin, disaster-hair falling back to his shoulders as he shimmied the knot of the tie up to his throat and released it daintily. 

“Please, Thomas, don’t make this any harder than it’s going to be for you.” he spoke cooly, pulling down his suit jacket without even looking and quietly shrugging it onto his slim shoulders, “For the sake of the bureau, you know what to say if you’re half as intelligent as I am.” the boy purred calmly. Thomas watched him through the mirror, shaking his head so dangerously slowly that it was scary. It was a threat when he bared his teeth.

“If you… Think I am going to go up there and  _ lie  _ about what you did to him for the sake of looking allied, you are  _ sorely… sorely  _ mistaken, Alexander.”

  
“Not a lie. But also not my point.” Alex caught his eye over his shoulder, letting his hair swish over the expensive suit fabric as he turned his head back to the glass. He reached behind him and released the hair tie, allowing his mane to flow free. Thomas didn’t let a single fucking movement go without his supervision.

“You go up there and claim I killed Randolph in psychopathy, we pose as a quarreling driver and mentally ill child, not the world-class professionals we are.”   
Thomas’s mouth fell open. He… couldn’t move. Alex just daintily lifted his comb and ran it through his honey-brown hair, silky strands filed into neat rows, and it was all the driver could see; it was all he could hyperfocus on. Everything in his vision flashed red, narrowing down to a tiny tunnel straight in front of him in untamed  _ fury _ .

“How dare you…” he whispered, so quietly that Alex actually paused and peeked over his shoulder. Thomas had taken a step forward, and Alex’s heart skipped a beat; his pupils dilated. The man’s chest was rising and falling heavily beneath his white shirt, heaving beneath his tie. His black, cold eyes were dripping with hatred, revulsion. 

“How DARE YOU say his name.” Thomas barked, his deep voice booming hollowly in the echoey bathroom. Alex’s heart thudded against his own tie, mind running at a million miles per hour. His fingers slowly crawled to his magazine belt on the counter where his gun was strapped, locked and loaded with seventeen rounds, fingertips brushing the holster where the silver hilt was peeking. He licked his lips and gave his own hazel eyes a glance. 

“Pull your shit together, Thomas, this isn’t about either of us, it’s about the fucking bureau.” he scoffed, purposely pushing it across the line, shoving his luck right over the edge of a cliff to shatter in a river.

He didn’t have a moment’s hesitation before he got exactly what he wanted. Thomas screwed up his lips and jerked with a primitive grunt, but Alexander joined the flurry of abrupt movement and whirled around. In a snap instant of chaos, Thomas released the latch with a sharp click and unsheathed his gun locking it into place. By the time the screaming red in his eyes had faded, he rendered the sight in front of him with a heaving chest. His heart dropped. 

The muzzle of Alex’s shining, glinting weapon in the mirror light was all that caught his eye. The boy stood poised, finely attired in his dashing suit and tie, all with the weapon gripped loosely, lazily in his hand. His chin was in the air, cocked slightly to the right with his brows raised, his mouth open in a silent, mocking little, “Ah?”, and his lips were tugging into a malicious smirk. As if he was having fun. 

There was nothing but Thomas’s heaving breath, his lividly sinister black glare of hatred. Alexander stood completely still, that taunting, mildly amused expression frozen on his face. He couldn’t help but  _ crave  _ how hot Thomas was when he got himself all mad. When he had his gun out… 

Alexander kept his brows raised as his lips slowly came together into a dark smirk, “It’s rude to draw your gun on someone, Agent Jefferson.” he spoke with a high voice, “especially when they’re offering you good advice.”

  
Thomas curled his lip into a vicious, deadly snarl, “I think…” he panted, canines baring, “Our definition of good advice is varying.” he finished with equal eloquence to Alex. The kid looked so dangerously overpowered. Not ten feet away from him, he appeared to radiate nothing but sickening danger. Charming, cunning, dashing danger. 

“Perhaps.” Alex dipped his head, never breaking eye contact, “But you know what the definition of right is, don’t you?”   
“I do.” Thomas immediately responded with a defensive sneer, “Do you?” he flipped the question on him. He expected it to take the sniper aback, but he did not waver. He did not falter. 

“I do.” he spoke, blinking, “The right thing is for the  _ bureau  _ to see unity. Not for Randolph--”   
“Don’t say his name.”   
Alex’s brows slowly furrowed, “I have as much right to--”

  
“Don’t…” Thomas daintily lifted his thumb and released the slide catch, sending the gun cocking into a loaded position. The clack echoed in the tiled space, sharp and harsh, “Say his name.” Thomas finished. Several moments of tense, strained silence followed his ringing words.

Finally, Alexander smiled softly, his beautiful curly lips tugging up. 

“Alright. I won’t. For the sake of time.” he clarified, eyes darting down to Thomas’s watch on his gun-holding wrist. He met with Thomas’s irises once again with near difficulty; there was so much wrath, so much loathing…The man was just as dangerous as he. 

“But let me clarify that your time to push me around with your stupid plaything is over, Jefferson.” he sneered on the word ‘plaything’, nodding to his gun, “The sniper has his toys back now. And you bet your damn perfect ass he’s not afraid to use them, even on you if you lay a finger on me.” he twitched a brow, but Thomas twitched one  _ right  _ back at him. Oh?

“Be very careful, Alexander. You can say the  _ exact  _ same about your dom.” he whispered with a single, slow head shake. Alex’s smirking lips parted in a moment of weakness. This one… this one finally caught Alexander off his guard. Something behind his rusty eyes flickered, and his even, steady breath caught just barely noticeably. Thomas’s dark eyes darted over his face as the boy wet his lips with the tip of his tongue.    
“So that’s the game we’re gonna play.” he spoke, lifting his chin once again. Thomas didn’t move. His expression was still waxily still, straight-faced and cruel. Only his lips moved when he spoke.    
“It’s the game you got yourself into, Hamilton.” 

Eyes locked without breaking, the two men slowly… gradually lowered their guns in exact time with one another, alert and perked for any sudden movements. Neither made one until both guns were pointed at the ground, hanging loosely between their fingers. Thomas had won this one, it seemed. But with Alexander, it was always foggy, the line between victory and conquer was so blurred and hazy beyond easy recognition. Thomas’s finger twitched to the trigger when Alex moved, but it was only to turn irritably to the mirror. The driver watched him, unblinking, as the boy tore down his suit bag and stuffed it into his duffel with a crinkling and shuffling of leather and fabric.

“Whatever, Thomas. It’s your choice to get up there and make an ass of yourself.” 

“Likewise.” Thomas sneered slowly, holstering his gun with a click, “When the fucking consequences come to you like a jackhammer to the mouth, don’t say I didn’t warn you, Hamilton.”   
“Same for you.” Alexander shrugged, turning back around to loop his holster around his belt and tighten it, a black, concealable home for his Taran Tactical. 

When he was finished, he rolled his shoulders back and pulled his suit in front, swishing neatly over the gun, and buttoned it carefully. Thomas felt frozen in place, his adrenaline and testosterone still running high and fucking with his head. What the hell was he supposed to do now? Alexander just uncapped his glass cologne bottle and tilted his neck, spritzing some on with a puff of mist and the clicking of a pump. The boy’s voice piped up to answer the unspoken question. 

“Go, Jefferson, I have to put my shit in a locker.” he spoke, putting away his cologne and turning back around with a sigh. Thomas hated that he looked fucking irrisistable, even ten minutes after an orgasm. He still couldn’t believe that this sophisticated, overpowered multimillionaire had just struggled to give his first blowjob on his knees. Thomas wanted to  _ put  _ him there, but instead, he shook his head. 

“You never learn, do you?” he spoke darkly, but Alex lifted his zipped back up onto his shoulder and daintily tightened his tie.

“Not easily.” he would give Thomas that. Thomas buttoned his own suit and finally looked away, heading towards the exit. 

“You will.” he replied simply. There wasn’t a fleck of insincerity in his tone. He cast a glance over his shoulder as he pushed the heavy door open with a palm.    
“And quicker than you think if you dare run your fucking mouth about Randolph Emerson.” he felt his throat tighten and burn at the name, scalding him. It was one he didn’t speak often. Alexander just shook his head, hazel eyes appearing deep umber in the shadow of the pale light. 

“You are blinded, Jefferson.” he spoke quietly in a rare moment of pure, raw genuinity. The sniper’s lip twitched, “You’re all blinded and you have no  _ fucking  _ idea the favor I’ve done you all.” He shook his head darkly in pure seething bitterness, and suddenly the madness within him was completely ungilded. Thomas’s entire body hurtled into panic mode; he wasn’t prepared for this. He wasn’t ready for the look in that boy’s eyes… they were insane. 

“I don’t give two goddamn shits that you  _ threw  _ me into that hellhole. Your fucking best friend. I don’t fucking care that they pumped me full of pills every night and picked apart my motherfucking brain, scanning me for their little science experiments. I don’t  _ fucking  _ care.” he sneered, spitting the curses. Thomas couldn’t move as he stared. A silence holding far more than shock ensued. The darkness had almost seeped into the walls, through the cracks, crawling on the ceiling, gradually blackening the room.

And as quickly as it had come, the madness ebbed away, waned and dissolved into nothingness. The boy rolled back his shoulders, completely collected and charming once more. He didn’t even take a deep breath; it just flicked like a light switch. 

“Because I sent that bastard straight to hell.”   
“And one day you’re going to follow.” Thomas curled his lip, heart pumping a barrage of thrilling and dangerous chemicals through his veins. He wanted to put lead in his mouth and fuck him senseless, but he couldn’t do either at the moment.    
Alex twitched a brow at Thomas, “Is that a threat?”   
“Take it how you want it, Alexander.” Thomas responded, turning his face from Alex’s and stepping away, “I’ll see you at the podium, kid.” he sneered. 

He allowed the door to slam shut behind him, severing the tension between the two rivals. 

* * *

“Ah, Xander, come.” Alex didn’t have time to add a word before he was yanked forward by the wrist, stumbling over his shiny dress shoes on the carpeted floor. The tech room behind the Press Room was buzzing, a few scattered people making sure everything was running and ready up front. Alex whipped his head from side to side, taking in the sights of three individuals testing the lights, but it was a blur all he could see was Lafayette’s blonde hair as he dragged his suit sleeve, weaving through some more approaching people in suits. 

“Am I late?” Alex inquired, bemused. Lafayette peeked over his shoulder and let Alexander go to follow him.    
“Nearly. Four minutes.” he clipped and led Alex out of the bustling space. A little tousled, Alexander had taken a wrong turn somewhere on the fiftieth floor and ended up in the  _ wrong  _ place, but eventually he’d made it mostly intact. The sniper and the Frenchman came up to an unembellished black door that he knew well, and halted with Lafayette. He glanced around the tech room to make sure nobody could hear his next words. Alex’s brows furrowed at the surreptitious behavior. 

“You good man?”   
“Yes, listen.” he spoke in a near whisper, wetting his lips quickly with a darting tongue and bringing his skittish blue eyes back to Alexander. The trainer was now in a full black and white suit just like the rest of them, and anyone could say that Lafayette looked nearly as dashing as Thomas did. Nearly. His hair was weaved into a silky French braid that just barely brushed the top of his shoulder. 

“Thomas is in here.”   
“As I would expect.” Alex shrugged casually at the common knowledge, but Lafayette looked like he hadn’t been finished with his sentence. 

“And I know what I walked in on today was…” he trailed off, blinking a bit to clear it from his head, “Embarrassing. But he should not be this hostile towards me. The man has an ego and rightfully so, but this is a little much, even for his temper.” he tried to convey with his heavy French accent. Alex absorbed and immediately started calculating what he was saying. Obviously he was speaking now as Alex’s friend rather than his trainer. The boy couldn’t help the smirk tugging at one corner of his lips as he looked down.

“Did you ever think… that maybe,” he began cooly, a bit distracted as he concentrated on rotating his Rolex watch on his left wrist, “He’s just an asshole? Ever take that into account?” Alex spoke, and Lafayette rolled his eyes and took his hands off his hips to wave one dismissively at the door. 

  
“Go in, we do not have time to ponder now.” he sighed, “And if you can, I would like you to convey that I notice his cheek. And I’ll humble it as I would yours if it continues.”   
“Push-ups?” Alexander guessed lightly with a smile, tossing his hair and twisting the golden knob. Lafayette, however, didn’t seem so amused. In fact, he would usually laugh merrily at such a play on his firmness during training, but he was completely serious.

  
“What, Lafs? Stick up your ass?” Alex blinked. There was a beat of silence. The man  replaced his hands on his waist and looked off to the side.   
“I do not think he knows if this gets worse and I have no choice but to defend myself physically, I will.” Alex’s lips parted and he almost took his hand off the knob, but then he stopped. This was Thomas Jefferson they were talking about… and Lafayette had a point to his words. Such a notorious temper, Thomas would do that if he was angry enough. He would. Even if it was  _ Lafayette  _ he was matched with. 

  
“I’ll tell him to shape up, but when he’s mad.” Alex shrugged, fighting the inexplicable urge to grin.    
“I know.” Lafayette responded, waving Alex impatiently into the room, “Get ready, we don’t talk about this now.” 

“Alright. You staying to watch?”   
“Oui.”   
“Bueno.”    
“That’s spanish.”   
“Oh.”   
“ _ Parfois, je pense que nous avons fait une erreur, et vous êtes un enfant au hasard que nous avons accidentellement recruté. _ ” 

“Huh?” 

“Nothing. Go.” Lafayette reached out and patted him quickly on the shoulder, clearly distracted by something going on in the background. Alex shook his head and snorted, turning right into the backstage, and as son as he set foot inside and clicked the door behind him, all sound was cancelled in an instant. 

He blinked when he’d arrived, feeling like he’d just stepped into an entire other planet. The walls, ceilings, floors were all black, but the row of vanities were the ominous source of light, probably to put emphasis on the face while people were primping up for their interviews. There were five back-to-back, and they were completely made out of mirrors, an epic design that Alex hadn’t seen before. As he took in the renovated space, his eyes jarred to a stop right in the middle.

  
“Long time no see.” he spoke in a friendly tone, stepping forward. Thomas set a comb down quietly on the table. His face in the mirror was illuminated glaringly by the lights. Alexander stuck his hands in his pockets and casually glanced around.    
“They renovated here?”

“Last month. Pipe burst and flooded the shit out of it.” Thomas grunted, sighing and leaning forward to stand with a rustle of fabric. He turned around once he had raised smoothly to full height, and he looked brilliant in the dark room. Alexander’s face split into a bright grin.

  
“Hot damn.” he raised his eyebrows, sweeping him. That cock was so fine, you could see it even in dress pants, just a nice bulge, “You look good.”   
“Mm.” he grunted vaguely again, and fell quiet. Alex sighed, strolling towards the vanity Thomas had occupied.    
“You still salty about our heart-to-heart or something?”

“That’s not what that was, first of all. How bout you, your mouth still salty from my dick?” Thomas shot right back, turning his head over his shoulder as Alex walked by him and skirted the seat, lowering down daintily with his perfectionist posture. He snickered, swinging his legs under the table. 

“Kind of.” he admitted, scooting the chair in with some difficulty on the carpet and wiggling his ass into it. Thomas sauntered slowly forth as the boy got comfortable, his hair still a bit of a windblown mess after running around HQ like an idiot. Thomas inhaled deeply, observing his every move. Alex just casually reached for the comb that Thomas had been using, but he jolted with a tiny, sharp gasp when the hand reached around his side and pushed his back down to the table. 

Alex didn’t dare look up; he just moved his lips soundlessly for a moment before closing them. Thomas pressed his hand down to the surface of the table with his own, which was surprisingly cold at the moment, and held it there. 

“Allow me…” he grumbled lowly, pressing down gradually on Alex’s hand, right between the first and second knuckle until it was painful, and then he released. Alexander made a tiny “gah” between clenched teeth, wincing. 

But the older just ignored him calmly, reaching for the comb and lifting it from the vanity with immeasurable elegance. Their eyes met in the mirror for a split second before Thomas ran a large hand over the top of Alexander’s head, smoothing the hair back and following it with the teeth of the comb. Alexander’s eyes nearly rolled, woah… Alex bit his tongue to stifle a sigh, shifting back in the hard, uncushioned chair. That felt really fucking good, almost orgasmic. Thomas read his expressions nevertheless, and the sniper swallowed, cheeks burning. 

“Do you have a thing for mirrors?” the boy broke the silence, catching Thomas’s eye again. The man just blinked nonchalantly, returning to his task. 

“Why’d’you ask?” he drawled curiously. Alex shrugged in his suit.    
“We seem to end up in them a lot.” Thomas paused to shift and part his feet before answering.

“Maybe I like the option of two angles. So what?” he defended, sifting slowly through Alexander’s luscious locks in a manner that was strangely gentle, foreign, suspicious, but very… sweet. Without any awareness, the partners unwittingly got lost in the feeling. Alex watched Thomas stand behind him and carefully avoid his ears, smoothing back his long mane. A minute passed in eerie silence as the two participated in this odd activity in the dark, silent backstage. 

Thomas huffed, running the comb down the back of Alexander’s neck until he  _ shivered _ . 

“I’m waiting till we have five seconds to go out, then I’m giving you a middle-part.”   
Alex smiled with a scoffing noise and tried to twist around in the chair, “Don’t you dare.” he barked a high laugh, imagining the utter humiliation. He’d look like a mop. Thomas grinned to himself silently, and Alex did the same, both returning to position. It was amazing how the pair jumped from a gun standoff to… this, like a mom jumps to conclusions, and yet it happened. Consistency was not an option when you’re dealing with a borderline psychopath. Whatever it was, the moment passed as soon as Thomas realized that it was happening.

Alex’s lips parted wordlessly as Thomas shut down everything he was doing at once and pulled the comb from his now-groomed head. He placed it down on the table and stepped away.

“Let’s go.” he nodded to the door on the opposite side of the room, and Alexander blinked, still a little bemused from the sudden halt of an activity that had become so oddly lulling. He licked his lips, allowing the lingering moment to pass. It was a moment… It had definitely been a moment, but that was all it was and could be. Especially now. Alex adjusted his cuffs. 

“You want to pick the questions or should I?”   
“Alternate.”   
“Ah. For old time’s sake?” Alex stepped up to Thomas’s side giving him an upwards sideways glance. Thomas’s gaze was locked straightforward, hand on the knob.    
“Careful, Allie. Very careful.” his voice rumbled deeply in his chest, once again letting his tongue slip. The boy just bit his lip smugly, rather pleased with himself. He lifted his hands to tighten the knot of his tie right up to his throat. 

“Showtime.” he spoke with a wicked smirk, and followed Thomas out onto the low stage. 

The moment they entered, sound flooded their ears like a roaring typhoon, surging up at the sight. The bursting flashes of blinding cameras clicked from the back of the room where the photography rigs were posted, clicking photo after photo of Agent Jefferson striding up behind the two-person panel table draped neatly with black satin. The taller, dark-haired man pursed his lips and raised a hand to acknowledge the press before sniffing and filing down to the second seat.

The photographers snapped silently over the thunder of the journalists in the front rows of seats, tongues between teeth whilst they zoomed in on Alexander’s face, turning once to flash the crowd white, braces-less teeth, waving in a manner that was less Thomas-ish. He strolled across the stage, ears flooded with noise as he made his way to fill in the seat next to the driver. He sighed heavily, sinking into the leather when he lowered himself, and quickly understood that these were made for people of six feet. 

Thomas took advantage of his prepared water glass as Alex bent over with a grunt, groping around for the lever and eventually doing that awkward dance one does when struggling to heighten a seat. Thomas gave him a sideways glance behind the glass to his lips and sipped. Alex finally came back up with a puff of effort, scooting his chair up to the table. 

“Shut up.” he breathed quietly, and Thomas just shrugged.    
“Didn’t say anything.” he shook his head.

But Alexander hardly heard his response. He didn’t respond himself. 

When Thomas glanced over at him, the boy’s eyes were trained, unblinking, in the slightly bobbing mass of suits, coats, and blouses. The driver set his water glass down and followed Alexander’s gaze, scouring the crowd for movement, and then he understood. 

Lumbering straight up the middle aisle and tagging along two moderately-frightened-looking scribes was the pompous, rotund man that they had been waiting for. Thomas gave Alexander a flashing glance before looking back to the menace himself, heart pumping just because Alexander’s was. After a year’s pause, here they were once again. 

John Adams was huge in every manner of the word. Above six foot and wide as an aircraft carrier, he took up an incredible amount of space, probably why he had come later when most everybody else was seated so he didn’t run them over like a plough in a cornfield. He was situated with a heavy, dark mustache and not a beard in sight, revealing his jello-like chin that jiggled when he spoke, and he bore corn-kernel teeth as well. Atop his head were a few wisps of hair that he combed over as if it made him more handsome or something. Despite this baffling appearance, the man was undeniably the most feared and respected journalist in the nation, a lethal combination for anyone on his bad side.

And one particular seventeen-year-old had gotten on his bad side two years ago and couldn’t peel himself off it since. As if he was even trying. 

Thomas and Alexander’s eyes followed the man in synch as he was clearly huffing with every step, trudging right up to the front row where three last empty seats remained--reserved. Before he sat, the pompous man cast one piggish eye up to the panel. Thomas could sense Alexander tense up next to him, and the boy actually  _ growled  _ under his breath. Without even thinking about what he was doing, Thomas extended a hand under the shroud of the table and placed it on Alex’s smooth, clothed knee. His growl cut off as he jerked in surprise, hair brushing his neck when he looked over to Thomas. The taller man fingered a blank sheet of paper from the tabletop and held it up to shield their faces. Lip readers were fucking everywhere, and they both knew it, so he used it as a guise for their conversation.

“Easy there, big guy.” he rumbled, face close to Alex’s so their breath mingled. The boy wasn’t looking at him, irritated and trying to break away, so Thomas squeezed his knee in a light warning.    
“Hey. Look at me when I’m talking to you.” he clipped, dipping his head to catch Alex’s eyes and bring them back up. The boy’s jaw clenched. 

“I said check yourself, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”   
“None of your business, Jefferson.” he moved to turn away and exit their little conversation, but Thomas held his knee hostage. 

“Actually, yes the fuck it is if you’re gonna act like an arrogant litte shit in front of a hundred jounralists and John fucking Adams.”

“You would know, wouldn’t you?” The boy sneered, regarding Thomas rudely up and down, but before the driver could dish his outraged response, the tone signaled for them to begin. Thomas cleared his throat abruptly, pulling away to sit up straight once more and smooth the sheet of paper down on the table top. 

The crowd fell into a hush of rustling fabric and murmurs whilst everyone sat down and leafed through papers and clipboards, getting settled. Thomas and Alexander scooted apart, pushing in their chairs up to the table’s edge, but Alex leaned back in his seat, bobbing it a bit as he lounged. Thomas cleared his throat in a gravelly rumble, folding his hands on the surface and putting his face closer to the microphone to speak. Alexander let him do it out of habit; he always started the introductions. The driver began, 

“Thank you all for coming.” he monotoned, looking out at the congregation whilst cameras still clicked and clacked in the background, “Let me start by reintroducing Agent Alexander James Hamilton back to our Agents ranks for the first time since his departure. Agent Hamilton, thank you for coming.”

  
Alexander gave Thomas  _ death  _ eyes and slowly, slowly leaned up from his reclined position. The chair squeaked in the utter silence, and he put his lips to the mic.

“Pleasure.” he spoke dryly, voice echoing in the room before leaning back in his seat once more, crossing his arms over his chest. Thomas wanted to sock the snot out of him, but he inhaled inaudibly and continued despite the already-boiling blood. 

“We’re meeting today to discuss our upcoming ‘second maiden’ operation, if you will; this commences in four days time on Tuesday, March ninth, 2067. We all know the objectives as following: the safe retrieval of Agent Elizabeth Schuyler, missing from a three month mission as of February eighteenth, and the detainment of said mafia boss, ‘Burr’.” he concluded eloquently, turning his dark eyes up to the bureau’s journalist congregation. 

“We will now accept questions for myself and Agent Hamilton.” 

Before the words were even off his lips, the press leaped into action, raising hands and calling names. A scene such as this would seem barbaric to one not used to press conferences, but luckily these two were more than weathered to such high-pressure situations. Alex stayed leaned back and lazily lifted a finger to point at a woman in the third row, blatantly avoiding anywhere near John Adams, but Thomas was watching the portly man’s odd expression. He seemed calm. He wasn’t even… standing to ask anything. 

The woman stood, lifting her chin to project. 

“Agent Hamilton, do you have any concerns about returning to the field so abruptly following an extended period of inactivity?” Alexander finally reached across and pulled the mic to the very edge of the table so he could be heard before crossing his legs. 

“Not in the slightest. As far as I’m concerned, my skills have not diminished in my quiescence. Ask anybody at the shooting range.” he grinned cunningly, nodding to Thomas for the next question. It was baffling how lax he was, the guise he was able to apply and remove whenever he saw fit. His superficial charm was simply impeccable. The driver brushed it off to scan the eager journalists, fighting vociferously to catch his eye. He pointed at a young man in the first row who stood, clipboard to his chest.

“Agent Jefferson, I’d like to flip the question to your perspective; do you have any reserves pursuing the operation with someone so young and especially after a period of dormancy?”   
Thomas exhaled, breath projected over the amplified mic. 

“No.” he responded simply. 

The man blinked. “Can you elaborate on that?” 

Alexander was looking out at the crowd, but theoretically he had all eyes on Thomas with that smug little grin on his stupid face. Thomas cleared his throat lightly and crossed his arms on the table. 

“We’ve trained for two days intensively, and I see no reason why I should have reserves based on his marks.” Thomas acknowledged dryly, “As for his age, it wasn’t a problem when this bureau recruited him at sixteen and began our training three days after his seventeenth birthday. So I don’t see any complications with it now unless our Recruiting Department suddenly takes back their decision and sends him back to Harlem.” he concluded, leaning back from the mic as cameras flashed and the hectic buzz ensued. Alex smiled and extended a hand to cover his mic and look over at Thomas. 

“I’m tearing up. Beautiful.” he snickered, and Thomas completely ignored the statement that mocked his absolute avoidance of anything near the premise of personal.    
“I think you should take the next question, asshole.” Thomas spoke through a clenched jaw, and Alex sighed highly before uncurling his fingers from his mic.    
“You in the back.” he pointed nonchalantly, laughter still in his voice, and once again utterly neglecting the ten foot radius around John Adams. 

A middle-aged person stood and brushed back their short hair from their face. 

“Agent Hamilton, could you comment on our accounts that you allegedly... ‘struck Agent Jefferson with an illegal hit’ during your combat training.”   
Alex sniffed, bobbing his seat back leisurely. 

“Yes. I could.” he answered with a shrug and pointed to the other side of the room, “Next question.”   
Thomas couldn’t tell if he wanted to stifle a snort of amusement or dish the kid a smack on the mouth. That response was so classically-Alexander that it was tooth-rotting. 

An older man with a stutter stood, “D-Do you have any leads on this op-peration? Have you seen the case file yet; all we’ve heard has ben-n rather vague. ” Alexander looked down to his sleeves in his lap and rotated his watch.    
“Bits and pieces, yes. We have mugshots of our suspected mafia boss and some scattered dates and names. The official case has not been released to us as of this moment--we got all this information during a debriefing with Director Washington--but we expect it sooner rather than later, don’t we, Agent Jefferson?” he didn’t even look over at him for his partner to respond seamlessly. 

“Yes.”   
“We expect to have ample time in this four day period to draft our tentative plan of execution once we’ve completed training and seen the file, but that’s all I can tell you as of now.” More cameras flashed, more voices erupted into shouts seeking an audience. 

Time crawled by for two hours, and quite frankly, Thomas was rather impressed. Other than the occasional smart-aleck remark if the question was too critical of him, Alexander was generally well behaved during the whole ordeal. Thomas only had to cover for his sass-mouth a couple scattered times, and hell, if he kept this up, he might even have been inclined to toss a little reward in afterwards. But there was this lingering sense of unease that spread through him, growing its tendrils through his gut in sync with the time that ticked away. 

John Adams was just... _ sitting  _ there. He hadn’t asked a single question; he hadn’t even attempted to. Alexander seemed rather content with this unspoken irregularity, but Thomas’s gut instinct  _ knew  _ something was wrong. The way the man kept his pudgy arms crossed over his broad chest, the way he leaned down towards either of his scribes, beady eyes still trained on Alex as he whispered something behind a daintily lifted hand. Something was brewing… Something was off.    
  
Thomas cleared his throat and raised his hand to curtail the hubbub and jeering calls. He calmly leaned up to the mic.    
“We have around five minutes left in our time slot, so if we could get those that haven’t had a chance to ask--”   
“Agent Jefferson. If I may.” a nasally, curling English accent interrupted Thomas’s Southern drawl in the silence. The driver blinked against the bright lights, searching for its place of origin, and his heart thudded once against his ribs,  _ hard _ , when he saw who it was. Thomas cleared his throat, straining not to cast Alexander a glance before responding. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, cold as liquid nitro as he lurched to a pause. 

“Yes, Mr. Adams?” he spoke. His voice echoed, amplified, into silence. The man leaned forward stiffly with a grunt, exposing his semi-bald head before he raised to his feet and smoothed down the front of his suit. The man inhaled, nodding up at the podium.   
“I’d like to ask a few questions of my own, if you please.”   
Thomas licked his lips, thinking of something to say, but to his dread, Alexander piped up next to him. 

“I’m sure you would, but we’ve got other people who dragged themselves out here to do the same thing.” 

Thomas’s head snapped to the side with wide eyes. Alexander was still lounging back in his seat, legs crossed, but this time his hands were placed daintily on the arms of the chair like a king. The driver desperately tried to catch his gaze, one that would instantly threaten him with a fucking flogging, but Alex’s scowl was locked on the man off the stage. The hundreds of people packed into the Press Room stayed down in their seats, glancing amongst themselves and whispering in a hushed buzz. Thomas silenced them with one hand, but this time Adams was the man to interrupt him.

“I’m quite sure that,” he turned around effortfully to face the crowd, his grandiloquent, full voice echoing without the use of a microphone, “my fellow journalists won’t mind their Head taking a few moments.” he huffed with a raised eyebrow, turning back to face the stage. Thomas briefly lifted a finger to scratch an eyebrow, a terrible, terrible feeling tugging at his gut, but it had no value when he had no choice.

“Go on. Please.” he waved a hand, permitting it. Before he’d even made the gesture, Adams had turned his snakelike face to Alexander, readying to address him. The boy sat back in his chair, positively storming in silence. His eyes were dark, defensive despite his careless body language. The Englishman cleared his throat grandly with a bumble, opening his mouth and raising his face to speak more or less to Alexander and mostly to the crowd itself. 

“The… events,” he orated vociferously, “that have led to this operation are tragic, truly tragic, yes.” he trailed as if he was dismissing it entirely. He coughed again, “But I call upon your memories to take to mind the last mission that was trusted to Agent Hamilton; Agent Hamilton,” he turned back to the podium, addressing him all in one breath. Alex didn’t move.    
“Yes.” he spoke, voice as dry and hollow as bone, threatening on the border of disrespect. The boy had blocked Thomas out with impenetrable iron walls, throwing them up around them to take his nemesis on his own. There was nothing the driver could do to stop this shitshow that was about to go down. 

Adams folded his pudgy hands in front of him, “Could you please recount to us the conclusion of your latest mission?”   
“That is a rhetorical question.” Alexander shook his head, but Adams interrupted his high voice.   
“Agent Hamilton, you terminated Agent Randolph Emerson, did you not?”

Thomas’s lips parted, suddenly very… very dry. 

The entire room fell silent; nobody said a word. So close. They had been  _ so  _ close to getting the hell out of there without anyone piping up about… him, about the past, and here they were with five minutes left for Alexander to completely blow his cool. The driver looked across the black table to Alexander, feeling like they were under the universe’s microscope, a huge eye twitching over them, tracking their every move. The boy slowly extended a hand to his water glass, looking anywhere but John Adams as he took his sweet,  _ sweet  _ time in taking a sip. Adams stood there, unfazed, waiting patiently with a smug look on his greasy face. After what felt like an eternity, Alexander lowered the glass from his pretty lips and held it. 

“Actually, he just bloomed eight bullet holes on his own.” he licked his lips and pursed them, looking up to Adams, “Magic.” he nodded, long hair swishing at his neck. Adams’s forehead was obviously already a bit damp with sweat, and now it was beginning to bead with impatience. Before the Head of Media could say anything more, Alexander cut him off in a new sneering tone.    
“Yes. John. I ‘terminated’ Emerson, that’s not the question you’re asking, so why don’t you go ahead and ask it?” 

Another shocked silence ensued. The entire hundreds of people were speechless, the cameramen, the journalists, the seating in the back for attending bureau members. Somewhere in the rear, Lafayette’s head collapsed into his hand and James Madison pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbing. Good God… this boy was going to be the death of them all. All of them. Except for Adams. 

A sleazy grin spread across the Englishman’s face.

“Clearly you have not matured.”   
“Clearly you have not lost any weigh--”   
“Mr. Adams.” Thomas quickly jumped in before Alexander’s next words were comprehensible. He shot the side of Alex’s head a deadly glare, so sharp it could slice through titanium. Why, he thought. Why couldn’t Alexander control his insufferable attitude for five fucking minutes without forcing Thomas to cover for his ass. The man fought to hold down a dominant growl as he turned his attention back to Adams when Alex refused to look at him, just giving him his temple.

  
“Please state your questions directly; we have no time for comments, sir.” he clipped, a little firmer this time as he leaned forward on the table with a shuffle of stretching suit fabric. Adams’s vein on his forehead was evident, sticking out like a sore thumb and throbbing. He tapped his fingers on the back of his hand and grinned tightly under his mustache hair. 

“Of course, Agent Hamilton,” he turned his face to the boy, whose jaw was grinding tautly under his skin, “could you… enlighten us as to why you would sign an operation contract with the man who convicted you? And Agent Jefferson, pray tell, what is your reasoning with signing with…” he gestured to Alexander with his bulging, piggish eyes, “the murderer of your close companion?”

“That’s an off topic question…” Thomas strained through teeth clenched so hard they could shatter into dust. Adams lifted a finger.    
“Allow me to rephrase, what exactly is your financial benefit involved in this operation.”

Alex shook his head and took another sip from his water, refusing to even look at the bastard. The kid was trying so hard not to blow a gasket; he could feel it slipping. Thomas took the question instead and shook his head, brows furrowed down. 

“That’s classifed information.” he waved his hand that was on the table, shutting down the question, but Adams was a journalist, after all. His sole purpose was to weave and worm his way towards the answer he wanted to hear. At this point, the crowd was beginning to buzz, each and every person whispering and scribbling down the words of the panel. This was heading downhill like a fat kid on a tricycle, and holy shit did Thomas know it. He wanted to reach across the table and  _ strangle  _ that arrogant shitbag, but Alexander was still locking him out no matter how he banged on the door. 

“Hamilton, how would you respond to someone saying that you have signed the partnership with Agent Jefferson for money?”   
Alexander licked his lips and shook his head.    
“They wouldn’t be able to say that to me.” he spoke, lip twitching in fury. Thomas ran a hand over his mouth, counting to ten in his head. And then back down. He had to control himself, he had to suppress his temper before he fucking lost it. The ball of his foot bounced under the table.

“And why…” Adams breathed heavily, sweat beading on the thin skin of his temple, “is that?” 

Alexander shrugged in this…  _ obnoxious,  _ **_shit-attitude_ ** little way that made Thomas want to bash some teeth out. 

“Their mouth would be far too full of my c--”    
“ _ Financial  _ issues and the questions surrounding them are confidential.” Thomas growled urgently to cut off what he was damn positive the bitch was about to say with his perfectly polite tone, and this time… the gravelly, abrasive bark of the driver’s hostile voice echoed in the room. It sounded so loud, fading off and dwindling into nothing, but the silence that ensued was tormenting, and it  _ burned  _ him. Of course Alexander had put him in this position. The driver clenched a fist in his lap, nails digging into his palms to press scarlet crescents into his soft skin. 

“Please ask your final question, or I’ll ask you to sit down.” he was far firmer this time, exercising his strong suit of dominance, and the wide man below him flashed him a yellow-toothed grin. Thomas wanted to curl a lip in contempt; you’d think someone so high esteemed and wealthy would make enough dough for whitening strips once in a fucking while. 

“If a brash person were to stand in front of you, Hamilton, and mention your…” he licked his lips, pretending to search for the right word when they both knew what he was about to dig up like a plunger pulling up old shit.

“ _ Mental _ concerns with regards to this new mission, what would you say to them?” his accent boomed grandly in the Press Room, silencing everyone into stunned speechlessness. There was only a rustle of movement of those inconspicuously sliding to the edges of their seats, placing pens on the beginning of new lines to record Alexander’s response. Thomas’s heart was whamming in his chest as he raised his eyes darkly to the sniper and  _ thought  _ the words so hard in hopes that Alexander would  _ feel  _ his threat. 

“ _ Don’t do it Alexander… Don’t you fucking do it…”  _ he shook his head the tiniest degree, but Alex had a look of complete calm on his face. His pretty hazel eyes flashed in the bright lights as he daintily, showily lifted his hand to set the water glass on the table with a muffled little thump. 

  
“ _ No…”  _ Thomas thought, hearing the blood roar in his ears like a fire, but Alex just eloquently uncrossed his legs with a rustle and sat upright, the back of the chair following him whilst he gradually raised up to his beautiful, arched-back posture. John Adams waited below him, still baring those teeth in a way that was somewhere between a smile and a grimace. Alex slowly… slowly… folded his hands on the table, moving his lips closer to the microphone until they were right up on them. Everyone would hear his next words--he made sure of that. The boys lips curled into a cool, light smile. 

“Sit down John, you fat mother _ fucker _ .” 

Thomas  _ bolted  _ to his feet so violently that his chair spun like a dreidel behind him just as there was a collective outburst from the crowd, surging like a typhoon of rage. Some people leapt to their feet while others’ faces contorted in offended outrage. Cameras surged into action, blinding them with excessive snapshots to catch the scene going down onstage, puffing and clicking madly. 

They caught every single frame of the montage, the single lunging step Thomas took to seize Alexander by the scruff of the neck, catching some of his suit and collar in his hand and  _ jerking  _ him up out of his seat. The way he screwed up his lips and shook his head tersely, spitting something quietly to Alexander, who tried to twist around and spit something back, but Thomas had him firm in his iron fist. The cameras caught every snapshot of Thomas ushering him offstage with nothing but a single apologetic wave to the journalists, who were in pandemonium. And then they were gone. 

The  _ second  _ Thomas had slammed the backstage door behind him, he  _ threw  _ Alexander inside by the scruff like he was a mangy kitten. Alex snarled and stumbled backwards, slamming a hand down on the closest vanity to catch himself before he careened into the wall. Thomas advanced on him mercilessly, his unbuttoned suit fluttering as he strode towards Alex with  _ wrath  _ in his black eyes. 

  
“ **_One_ ** job, Hamilton. You had  **_one FUCKING_ ** Job.” he boomed and striked out a hand that seized the ver base of Alexander’s tie and maniupuated Alexander to upright position with struggling grunts from both of the. His fingers clenched and dug into the fabric, forcing those hazel eyes up to his own, and they were ignited like dry kindling, blazing afire. His curvy brows were pinned down darkly, his pretty hair still combed into place, and he was  _ livid _ . 

“ **_You_ ** saw  **_exactly_ ** what he was doing,  _ bastard. _ ” Alex spat, poking a sharp finger into Thomas’s chest right up under his tie.   
“He called me a psychopath in front of hundreds of journalists.”   
“And you fucking confirmed it,  _ dipshit _ .” Thomas roared, drowning him out as he shook Alexander a bit, rattling him in rage. 

“You know what? No. No.” Thomas clipped curtly, roughly letting go of Alexander's tie so the kid fell back from his tippy toes to the soles of his feet. 

“That’s it. You’re done. Let’s go.” his sentences were short and terse as he whipped around and strode briskly to the opposite exit door. Alexander just stood there in shock, feeling completely out of this fucking world. What had just happened? What was Thomas implying? 

  
“ _ What? _ ” he scoffed, curling his lip rudely, and Thomas  _ whirled  _ around, hand still on the knob. His suit flaps swung at his sides, giving him the powerful impression of wearing king’s robes. 

“I said you’re fucking done, Alexander. I said I’d fucking do it if you screwed the hell up, and you  _ screwed the hell up _ .” he pointed at him aggressively, lips pursed in temporarlily pent rage, “So get the  _ fuck  _ over here,  _ right. Now.  _ And I want you to follow _ calmly  _ and  _ quietly _ to my apartment like the submissive little bitch you are, and I’ll deal with you when we get there. You’re done.” he repeated once again, “You blew your fucking luck.” 

In the ruthless silence that followed, Alex glowered lethally across at Thomas in the low light, hiding his shock. The driver’s glare matched his own without fail. Back in the tech room, Lafayette and Washington were undoubtedly waiting, red cheeked and furious, but Thomas would find a way to peace them just until tomorrow; Alex knew he would. Thomas was going to take care of him all night, take care of that behavior like he  _ wanted _ to this time.... The boy had to weigh his decisions  _ extremely  _ carefully now that he’d worked himself into a sticky spot. Thomas wasn’t playing around anymore. He wasn’t tolerating lenient bathroom blowjobs or casual hotel sex. It was over. The dom was going to play his game this time. 

He swallowed, throat bounding as he lifted his chin to retain some level of dignity. And stepped forward to his dom. The driver didn’t smile, didn’t acknowledge his frustrated obedience and just glowered darkly down on him as he approached and halted up next to him. As usual, Thomas’s powerful, delicious scent flooded his senses and engulfed him, somehow getting his testosterone pumping; how the hell can someone  _ smell  _ like dominance? The man in charge looked away, placing one hand to ghost over the small of Alexander’s back above his suit, just a light controlling guidance, and pushed the door open. This was going to be a show. 

Immediately, sound flooded their ears, and light blinded their eyes. The tech room was bustling, and Alex was frozen in shock for a moment but only a moment. Thomas pushed him forth with that dictating hand, urging him forward. They stepped out into the still-being-renovated room with its exposed ceilings an naked floor, and Thomas weaved the both of them between people that were trying to stop them and ask questions. The agents never even saw Washington and Lafayette against the near wall as they passed. The Frenchman stepped, making a move to pull them aside, but a hand on his elbow by Washington halted him. The man turned his face up quizzingly, but Washington’s serene blue eyes were only on the agents. 

“Let them work this out tonight, Gilbert.” he spoke familiarly, eyes darting over the heads as the men meandered and dodged through the many black suits and made it out the door.    
“Your Excellency--”   
“Talking to them now would have no effect on those stubborn heads. Tomorrow.” he briefly lifted a hand to massage over both brows as if he had a headache, “We’ll address them tomorrow.” he sighed dismissively. He could sense Lafayette’s strong disapproval, but it was not his disapproval to express, and so he laced his fingers in front of him, huffing a breath of frustration. He had a queasy feeling in his stomach that he knew how they were going to work this one out, but he let it go. 

It was weird. How neither man talked to each other as they twisted and turned through the empty hallways towards the elevators. The only sound was the squeaking of their soles on the slick marble, the shuffle of their pant legs with each step. Alexander huffed for breath; he wanted to ask Thomas to slow the hell down and take into account his tiny legs, but he had an inkling that such a request would not be appreciated let alone granted. The boy just speed walked with an awkward jogging leap every few strides, following Thomas’s dark head of hair and fluttering suit. 

“Get in.” Thomas punched the ‘UP’ arrow and luckily the elevator was sitting right there on their floor, and the doors opened with a ding. With any fortune, they’d get straight to the apartment without any stops, because Thomas didn’t know if he could wait any longer. They filed into the small space, which was playing calm jazz Muzak in the background. The doors slowly… agonizingly slowly slid closed, and the pair stood, not facing each other as it started to rise. The Muzak didn’t match the mood, and it was almost weirdly dreamy. Alex’s hazel eyes darted sideways over Thomas, taking in his body language, scanning his micro expressions as he did so often. 

His hands were in front of him, one in a fist and the other settled calmly over it. But one long, tan pointer finger was twitching rapidly, tapping the back of his hand. The restless movement, made Alex’s lower belly ache, pooling out of fucking nowhere, and he shifted his weight parting his feet a bit and blinking as he swallowed the remaining spit in his dry mouth. There was more silence. More Muzak. 

Thomas dished him a sideways glance in the intense silence, noting exactly what the kid’s body was doing, and his finger tapped faster. They were both so fidgety, so impatient, which only made the other one more so. This had to be fucking over soon as they both stared at the numbers going down, ascending them closer and  _ cloer  _ to where they urgently needed to be. 

_ Finally  _ the elevator dinged a clear note, and the doors slid open, cracking to reveal the ornate hallway that belonged to Thomas’s floor. The man inhaled sharply, shattering the silence and unclasped his hands to extend one over to Alexander. He didn’t utter a single word as he began to walk; his warm fingers had curled around the back of Alex’s neck, settled under his silky hair. The hand controlled Alex, who silently obliged as he was told, holding back the billion fiery words on the tip of his tongue. The driver’s hand felt so warm on his neck, slightly calloused and rough, but  _ mouth- _ watering. He didn’t know if he could take it anymore when Thomas stopped at the door and huffed, never releasing Alex as he opened his suit lapels and searched for his wallet. Alex watched him flick it open and slip out his card, and the man spoke.    
“Listen to me right now, because I’m not saying this again.” he rumbled, voice vibrating deep in his chest, “You act up, and it’s gonna hurt a lot more than I’m already going to make it. You understand?”

Alex lowered his eyes to hide his wicked smirk. 

“Yes.”   
“What’s your safeword?” Thomas asked, more for Alexander than for himself. He never forgot a safeword, never.    
“Calico.” Alexander repeated, “It’s alway Calico.” he added.

“Didn’t ask.” Thomas grumbled, jerking open the door with a click and manipulating Alex into the familiar apartment. He let the door close on its own accord as they breezed by, the reverberating slam making Alex jump. By now, his heart was pounding, the blood roaring in his ears. This was seriously about to happen. For real this time, and he was twenty, ten, five feet away from Thomas’s bedroom, and the pure adrenaline started to pump, already pulling him into a thrilled, terrified high. His tie started to feel awfully tight as they came up to the bedroom door…

But Thomas stopped him. 

Alexander looked up quizzingly, but Thomas cut him off before he could utter a word. 

“On your knees. Right here.”   
The words echoed in the empty apartment. Alex scanned Thomas’s dark, twitching irises for a beat of hesitation.

“That means get on your  _ fucking  _ knees, slut.” he spat, using the hand on Alexander’s neck to push him to the ground with rustling and grunts. Alex kneeled on the hardwood floor, and immediately searing shots of pain lanced up his legs. He clenched his teeth. The bruises--he’d forgotten about the bruises on his knees. Thomas hadn’t, and he opened his bedroom door to leave Alex behind. 

“If you’re half as smart as you think you are, you know you’re getting the table this time.” Thomas explained, stepping into the room and letting Alex watch--but not help--as he approached and rounded his bed. Alex shuffled desperately from knee to knee with tiny huffs and grunts of pain, struggling to get the pressure off of them. It smarted like a motherfucker as he pursed his lips and clenched his fists, not quite sure what to do with himself. 

Thomas, on the other hand, knew exactly what he was doing. The man shrugged off his suit jacket and took each of the four pillows one by one to tuck them under the bed. The sheets were tightly made, so he wouldn’t have to worry about those as he slipped a hand under the edge of the bed and pressed. Something ‘chlunk’-ed into place with a metallic sound, and Thomas sniffed casually, lifting the edge, and Alex’s eyes widened as the bed glided as easily as if it weighed less than a sheet of paper. Thomas needn’t use but one finger as the bed rotated over to expose…

“Jesus Christ…” Alex whispered breathily, temporarily forgetting the pain on his knees. Where the bed had been, there was a gleaming metal table, cold and metallic in the lights of the dome above them. All hints that there was a mattress under it were hidden; you’d never have been able to tell. Alex’s hazel eyes scanned the spectacle. There were metal loops around the edges, designed for shackles. Thomas stood before it and fingered the edge to slide out an extension of the surface. Alexander swallowed when he understood that it was a place meant for setting different… items. Alex cleared his throat. 

“You set this up yourself?” he inquired, unable to avoid holding his cocky tongue for too long. Thomas whipped his head over his shoulder, giving Alex a  _ razor  _ glare as he stepped away from the scary-looking table. Alex’s head followed his dom that sauntered to one of the cabinets and pulled it open.    
“How many times have I said not to speak unless spoken to?” he pulled an item down that swayed at his side, and then he went for another. Alex opened his lips to answer, but Thomas cut him off. 

“Clearly, you have a dirty habit of opening that mouth when you’re not supposed to. I can fix that.” He growled, slamming the cabinet closed to make Alex jump, eyes snapping open. Thomas turned back to him, hands on his hips despite the two black items in his grasp. Alex started, heart pounding wildly against his ribs. 

“Come here.” Thomas lifted a hand to snap at his feet, pointing down below him. Alex released a growling whimper, collapsing forward onto his hands, pressing his palms against the cold hardwood. 

“Huhhh…” he groaned a bit, stiffly shuffling his legs under him to stand shakily. This… strange new part of him jumped intrusively into his thoughts. He had the inexplicable urge to thank Thomas. The fuck? 

He stumbled to his feet, putting on his usual bratty attitude and glowering down at them as he stuffed his hands deep in his pockets. Thomas tapped a foot on the floor, just his toe as he awaited the approach of his submissive. He would wait. The boy approached slowly, testing the waters. Thomas could almost see inside his head, see what he was thinking, how he wanted to test him even now. 

“Thanks for the bruises.” the boy grumbled, and the next thing he saw was  _ white _ . A whipping “ _ smack!”  _ rang through the room and  _ echoed  _ as his head wrenched to the side; he even felt his neck pop, it was so violent. Alex cried out, stumbling sideways, but Thomas caught him by the hair and shoved him directly down to the floor, calm demeanor taking over his actions. Alex could see his veins throbbing behind his eyelids as he struggled to open them again, trying to blink. They watered profusely. 

“You like that?” Thomas looked down on him, towering over like an angry god. Alexander heaved a whimper, trying to raise a hand and touch his face, but Thomas kneeled down slowly to his level, face-to-face. 

“That looks like it hurt, Alexander.” he spoke rhetorically, leaning in closer to run his hands down Alex’s arms, pushing them away from his face and carefully behind his back, “That’s a little demonstration of what happens to back-talkers. That didn’t feel good, did it.” he stated more than asked, and Alex felt his breath on his face, felt his body brushing against his even with his eyes closed. Thomas’s fingers laced around his arms and he felt the shock of cold leather. He choked a gasp. 

“Wrist cuffs.” Thomas whispered, buckling them expertly and pulling back from Alex to stand from his squatted position. He peered down on the boy, a raw, red handprint glaring on his tender cheek. He grunted, tugging experimentally against the cuffs behind his back. They were full leather, extending from his wrist to halfway up his forearm, and they were melded together to each other, restricting any movement. Alex tried nevertheless curling and uncurling his fingers to rub up against the buckle. 

“And… for your mouth.” Thomas walked leisurely behind Alex, and the boy followed him with his head as he swished by. He flinched when something was lowered in front of his face with a clinking of metal, dangling and swaying in his vision before it pulled back towards his face. 

“Open your mouth, Alexander. I’ll open it for you if you want to be a bitch.” Alex  _ fumed  _ down at his lap, opening his mouth just an inch for the ice cold bar of metal. It stung his tongue with the freezing sensation, jerking it back into his mouth like he was trying to retreat, but Thomas pulled back gently, sliding the bit over the curve of his tongue, reeling his lips back just the tiniest increment. Alex’s adrenaline was  _ pumping  _ now, and the uncomfortable rock pressed against the tight front of his pants wasn’t helping shit. 

“You have had too many privileges for too long, boy. You deserve to be punished like an animal. And you know you do.” Thomas lowered close to his ear, the grumble of his words vibrating against his skin. Thomas pulled the bit back, leather straps pressing against his cheekbones as he fastened the buckle behind his head, nearly too gently. Alex wanted to shiver, to cringe away, but even he knew better than to test Thomas right now. Alex opened his mouth wide, lifting his tongue, but the bit just clinked and knocked against his teeth metallically. Saliva began to pool under his tongue, and his eyes widened when he tried to swallow again and found that he… couldn’t. 

Thomas humphed a deep, mocking huff of amusement. 

“Daddy’s going to get dressed, and you’re going to stay right here on your knees and think about what you’ve done. You  _ know  _ you deserve this, Alexander, don’t you.” This time, Alex finally shivered at the sound of his name on Thomas’s lips, the hot breath tickling his ear. He’d never been in gear like this before, gear so expensive and official. The man rolled his shoulders back, lengthening his spine to stand straight. The hand on the buckle trailed down his neck, petting him one time, saying nothing more before he turned away into his closet. 

Alex was left to kneel there in stark,  _ utter  _ shock. He glanced around him, craning up to the looming metal table. Holy shit. Holy motherfucking shit, he was about to do this. 

Perhaps he had understimated Thomas--that was pretty fucking clear to him now. Perhaps he’d expected too little of him: rough sex instead of pure, raw torture. Now, as he shifted from knee to knee, chewing and drooling on a cold metal gagging bit while still fully clothed, he started to believe that he had seriously underestimated Thomas’s power. 

And two minutes later after light shuffling and the muffled thump of closing drawers in Thomas’s closet… that belief was finally confirmed. To its absolute fullest. There could no longer possibly be a doubt in his mind that he was dealing with the lusty stuff of his most desperate nightmares. 

Alexander turned his head against the leather, hair brushing his bare neck, and his face fell, the muscles relaxing involuntarily. Thomas watched as the boy’s pupils dilated, expanding to twice their size. Alexander had been wrong if he ever thought Thomas Jefferson anything less than a dark menace…

The driver stood before him in the doorway, poised, neck arched beautifully beneath the collar of his shirt, because not only was he  _ not  _ naked, he was completely dressed. Alex’s breath sped up, fluttering against the front of his shirt; he couldn’t help it. Holy…

Thomas was in a full suit. Black pants. Black tie. Black jacket. Black shirt. A full black suit that  _ radiated  _ darkness. And that wasn’t even the half of it. Settled upon the bottom half of his angular face was a black mask. Alex’s hazel eyes darted over his face desperately, taking in the complete sight, but he couldn’t comprehend it all at once. The mask wasn’t skin-tight, and it wasn’t loose; it was perfectly fitted to this man, covering his nose and mouth, and it wasn’t flat either. It had subtle ridges, further signaling its custom design, but what struck Alexander the most was the…  _ elegance _ . This wasn’t a submissive mask. This wasn’t a muzzle.  _ This  _ was designed for a man who knew that he was in charge. It was designed for control.

Thomas blinked down at him and tucked a black riding crop gently under his arm to pull a dark piece of something down onto his hand. Alex squinted only for a moment before his eyes widened. Thomas held his hand up in front of him and pulled on a fitted, black leather glove. And then another, his long, expert fingers sliding into the garment. His hands looked so punishing… so dangerous in the gloves that Alex squirmed where he kneeled, his cock twitching in his pants. He  _ needed  _ it. He was terrified, and he was  _ aching  _ for it. 

Thomas saw him wiggle, raven eyes sweeping him up and down as he took one kingly step towards him, daintily lifting a black gloved hand to curl around the hilt of his riding crop and lower it to his side. The man slowly… slowly approached Alexander, allowing him to see everything he wanted to see, and when he was standing directly above him, he halted. Alex carefully looked to see that he was eye-level with the leather crop. He flinched when it moved, and Thomas watched him lustfully as he flicked the tip of the crop skillfully to Alex’s throat.

The kid kept his eyes open defiantly, trying to look at it as Thomas drew the tip slowly up his delicate, fluttering throat. Alex breathed, hissing out through his shackled mouth until the cool leather was under his chin, tilting his face up to look right into Thomas’s eyes. 

They were so goddamn black… perhaps his garb was to thank. But within them, there was calm, controlled wrath. The man cocked his head as he peered down on that pretty face. The lighter eyes twitched desperately, darting over his face. He could  _ smell  _ the fear. He could sense it, and beneath his austerely beautiful mask, he smiled. 

He’d waited for this for a long time. 

  
  



	13. Not all There Myself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your support; it means the world to me! I hope you enjoy, loves! 😊 <3 <3

Thomas tilted his head to peer down at Alexander, positive that he would wake up any moment. Because… shit. When he’d imagined this in his head--which he had done more than several times in the span of four days--it had never even looked nearly this orgasm-inducing, and yet here they both were in the middle of the ample space in Thomas’s bedroom, Alexander kneeling fully clothed on the floor. 

The boy’s chin rested atop his discipline crop, tipped up to him to reveal his pretty, young face. The bit sat, as it was designed, uncomfortably on his tongue, and Thomas could see in Alex’s eyes that he was trying not to wiggle and squirm around it. His pink tongue was set back, trying to curl away inconspicuously, but the dom could see his intentions. Spit pooled under his tongue, saliva that would prove difficult to swallow with the metal obstruction pulling at the corners of his lips, hooking onto leather straps that tucked behind his ears and into his smooth mass of long hair.

Thomas would have given him some sort of blindfold, but he wanted to see the fear in those eyes today; the moment Alexander completely submitted to his dominance, whenever that would come, he wanted to see it happening, because  _ God,  _ had he been anticipating that moment.

Alex’s belly and chest rose and fell against his white shirt, still going mad with adrenaline that wouldn’t start to cease until after he was through with him. Thomas listened to his hissing breathing in the silence that was his bedroom, and it ignited him. Every few breaths, Alex would try and breathe through his mouth and muffle the sound, but around the bit it only amplified it. 

Having Alexander in his clothes for this part was crucial. Thomas towered above his precious new submissive, parting his feet a bit, and knew that he was punishing that brat  _ exactly  _ how he was when he had let his fucking mouth run in front of the press. When the kid was professional in his elegant work suit, but still on his knees,  _ that  _ was how Thomas knew he was in complete power. This wasn’t the casual shit he was used to; this wasn’t random UVA frat twinks. This was Alexander Hamilton, tailor fitted suit unbuttoned and hanging neatly at his sides while he was gagged and handcuffed behind his back in full uniform.

Thomas blinked and breathed through his mask, designed impeccably to allow airflow so that his voice wasn’t muffled in the slightest. Perhaps Alexander was right. Why should they mingle with peasants when they were stuff made for kings? 

There was another reason he wanted Alex’s clothes on for this part. 

The dom huffed a breath and expertly flicked the crop away from Alex’s chin, pressing it against the side of his own pant leg once more in neutral position. Alex tried to close his lips as he lowered his head, just knocking his teeth against the metal like he was about to gag on it and pulling the leather against his face and back of his head. Thomas shook his head calmly. 

“Look at me. You know that.” he spoke with an even tone, waiting patiently for Alexander to raise his eyes up his pant leg, torso, and finally to meet his own above the dark mask. 

“That’s better.” Thomas rumbled as he slowly re-curled his fingers around the hilt of the crop and daintily folded his hands behind his back. Alex’s hair swished over his shoulders when he turned his head to follow Thomas’s movement, never letting him out of his sight. The driver took a leisurely step to the left, still looking down on Alex while he placed his feet quietly on the floor. 

“We’re going to have a little chat now, before we get started.” 

He spoke clearly and began to slowly circle his kneeling partner. Despite the utterance of what could be friendly words, his tone made Alexander want to shiver at the mention of… getting started, like this was a professional appointment. He was so calm, so dangerously serene and dark that it was giving him chills; Alexander was a mouse in a cornfield, and Thomas was circling him like a hawk--a predator lurking, biding his time before the kill. Fabric swished as Thomas walked by and circled behind him, and Alex got a good, hard glance at those gloves this time. They were tight, almost like latex, but he could tell that they were only the world’s finest leather. He had to focus on something else, maybe Thomas’s shoe before his own thoughts carried him away: the vision of those long fingers curled around the hilt of a whip, or even inside of him, working at his prostate like a surgeon…

His wish to be distracted was granted when he felt fingers on the back of his head. His heart skipped a breathless beat in his chest, but he stayed unmoving on his knees in an enormous feat of self-discipline. The metal settled on the back of his tongue slid forward, bumping gently against his molars and slipped off his glistening, wet lips that he couldn’t dry while it was on. Alex immediately shut his mouth to swallow the excess saliva for the first time. The warmed metal lifted off his chin, and he caught a glimpse of black gloves right beside his face as Thomas gently settled the bit gag around his neck like a necklace, buckling it under his hair and letting it go. It only weighed down on him a bit, but enough to remind him of what he was dealing with here.

For a fleeting moment, Alexander didn’t trust his own mouth; he would have to be very... very careful with it now. 

“Eyes on me. Thank you.” Thomas rumbled, staring down at Alex as he gradually rounded the other side to the front once again. His demeanor was  _ astoundingly  _ different like this, and Alex was already so far into subspace with him it wasn’t even funny. This was amazing, and Thomas hadn’t put a hand on him yet. Thomas cleared his throat behind the mask and stepped slowly around to the front of Alexander. 

“I have made it very clear that I want to do this, Alexander.” Alex didn’t dare look away from his black eyes, but from the corner of his own he caught sight of Thomas’s leathered pointer finger tapping… tapping so slowly on the riding crop, and this time, it was patient. It was collected. He swallowed behind his black tie. 

“But it isn’t all about me, when it comes to this.” he nodded, tilting up his chin, and he stopped when he was facing Alex once more, completing the circle. 

“Sounds fair.”   
“Shh…” Thomas whispered, and Alex flinched when Thomas flicked up the tip of his crop to press against his lips, sealing them closed. He didn’t hit him or hurt him; he knew exactly what he was doing as he loomed down over him and shook his head slowly. 

“That wasn’t a question. That’s your second warning, and it’s going to be your last. Note that.” Thomas commanded, and Alex got just a little harder if that was humanly possible, shifting discreetly between his knees while the leather pressed against his sensitive lips, cool and smooth. After five long, drawn out seconds of pause, Thomas lowered the crop cooly down to his side once again. 

“As I was saying before your interruption.” There was a tiny hint of a growl in his tone, signaling his disapproval, “This is about to revolve around you, pet.” he started to walk again, circling slowly. “It’s going to hurt. And if you don’t want to do this, I would like to know now. No questions asked.” Thomas was behind him when Alex’s jaw fell open, and he cocked his head sarcastically. This fucking guy.

“You’ve gotta be shitting me, Thomas--Ff!” he screwed up his lips and jolted forward from his hips, squeezing his eyes shut and biting his tongue,  _ hard _ . Thomas had cracked the crop across his ass; clothed as it was, it was so skillfully placed that it was painful. Alex couldn’t see Thomas to read his micro expressions--even if he could, the mask made it difficult--but he imagined that his dom was  _ not  _ happy as the boy panted and unclenched his muscles, heart whamming.

“You think this is a game? You think this is funny?” He interrogated, staying behind Alex. The boy lowered his head, glowering at his knees in frustration. He ground his jaw, scraping his molars against each other.    
“No, sir.” he clipped out shortly, really feeling the sting on his ass now. 

“No, sir.” Thomas echoed right back, bobbing his head, “That is how you address me,  _ never  _ with such disgusting disrespect, or you are going to  _ feel  _ it, are we clear?” he spat with emphasis to make sure Alexander never forgot it again. The sniper just kept his eyes locked on the floor. He wanted to openly challenge Thomas for being such a douche, but for the first time he was genuinely weighing the consequences. A pressure on his shoulder jarred him from his thoughts. 

“Yes, sir.” Alex spoke, straightening up when he realized that the riding crop was on his shoulder. Thomas gave a curt nod at Alexander answering with such a subtle warning, and was satisfied enough to begin walking again. Alex craned out of the corner of his eye to watch Thomas’s legs pass by, watch on his shoulder as the black tip trailed down his collarbone and chest as Thomas moved. 

“Let’s try this one more time.” Thomas spoke evenly, rounding back to the front, and when he stopped there, he squatted down. Alex wasn’t expecting this, and he tensed up, accidentally shooting pain up his knees.    
“Fuck…” he breathed, just quiet enough that Thomas couldn’t hear it. The man lowered down carefully with a deep exhale, fabric of his black suit rustling as he descended. He was close to Alex, so close that their bodies were almost brushing, and Alex could feel his heat, smell his powerful scent; he felt like he could pick it out in a crowd of a thousand people. Thomas’s raven eyes swept back and forth over Alex’s face, switching between his left and right eyes. His hair was combed back so neatly over his head; the mask was so tantalizing and terrifying. Alex swallowed as Thomas spoke. 

“I’m ready to do this, Alexander.” He placed his elbows on his knees with an inhale, letting the crop dangle and brush the floor. He blinked and shook his head calmly, “But I’m stopping right fucking now if you’re a fraction below one-hundred percent. Do you understand?”   
Alex wanted to roll his eyes; he didn’t understand why Thomas was doing this. Or how he somehow managed to make it sexy, but he was  _ in _ and he wanted to start now, that was quite apparent. 

“I… obviously want to do this. Yes.” he furrowed his brows with a tiny scoffing laugh, “Why the hell are you asking me?”

“Alright.” Thomas looked away and stood up gracefully, walking behind Alex with a swish and breeze that smelled like dominance-scented cologne. 

“You want to show me that you can’t handle having privileges, I’ll take them back. Simple as that.” Thomas rumbled, and Alex heard the clinking of metal as Thomas’s fingers unclasped the buckle behind his neck. Understanding what he was about to do, Alex tossed his head away, and pulled at his handcuffs, dreading the cold gag, but his head snapped up in an instant. 

“Hhh.” Alex choked, gargling when his throat was stretched upwards at an awkward, backwards angle. He jerked, but the hand cupping his throat was firm and emanating menace; it wasn’t going anywhere. Thomas exhaled, belly against Alex’s head as he trapped him there, pinning him up against his body and staring down into his flashing hazel eyes. Alex swallowed and  _ whimpered  _ at the sensation of that gloved hand cupping his throat, warm through the leather and foreign in a way that made him need to moan, whimper, just  _ something _ . 

Thomas casually moved his fingers on Alex’s throat, feeling it up gently until he settled his fingers in the notch under his jawline. He wiggled them just a bit up there, getting comfortable. Alex could sense that the man was waiting on a pressure point. 

“You want to give me grief? Hm?” Thomas asked, and this time Alexander shook his head immediately. 

“Alright. Then quit giving me this bitchass attitude, and open your mouth. I’m taking this conversation from here since you can’t control yourself for five seconds.” he shamed him mercilessly cruelly, releasing his throat but brushing his fingers up to break one thumb past Alex’s lips and pry his mouth open. The boy parted his jaws this time as the finger slipped in, and he tasted leather for the first time. Slippery, was his thought as Thomas pulled back the corners of his lips and slid the bit over his soaked tongue, frigid once more. Thomas tightened it more this time so that it pulled further into his mouth, making it harder for him to swallow spit. 

“I have rules when I’m doing this, Alexander, so listen to them now.” he roughly let go of the buckle, and Alex’s head shoved forward, hair falling around his face before he defiantly tossed it back. 

“One. You’re getting this run-down because it’s your first time. That throbbing cock in your pants is no excuse for me to start a fraction of a second sooner than I say so.” he spoke, slapping the crop against his leg while he tilted his chin regally, elegantly in the air. The crack made Alex flinch and blink, becoming acclimated to what the sound was associated with. Thomas slowly paced, listing these commandments by heart while Alex’s eyes followed him, never straying. 

“Two. You do exactly as I say, when I say, and how I say to do it. You are lower than myself, Alexander. You are an inferior. You can challenge that like the brat you are when I’m through with you and not a second sooner, not just because I will torture you to agony, but if you don’t, you will injure yourself. Now, personally, I don’t care about you, Alexander.” He shrugged indifferently, still pacing slowly like a king, “But that has no relevance when it comes to this. You will follow my orders to the letter, because I won’t be responsible for injury; do I make myself clear, boy?”   
Alexander made a sound of acknowledgement around the bit, giving up and nodding his head when Thomas gave him a scalding glance.

A spurt of adrenaline shot through his chest when a droplet of saliva slipped past his lower lip, warm and wet onto his chin and he couldn’t…  _ do  _ anything about it. He tried to quickly wipe it on his shoulder, but with the handcuffs holding him back, he couldn’t reach. He looked desperately back to Thomas, his cheeks burning in humiliation. Only this man, he thought lividly. Only this man would know his gear well enough to choose the piece that degrades him to pathetically incoherent speech and humiliation. 

The dom peered across his shoulder and swept Alex up and down one time. His eyes flashed when he saw, and his lips twitched into a hidden smirk behind his mask.    
“Three.” he continued, turning his dark glance away from Alex to pace in the other direction, keeping an eye on the sub who was  _ storming _ , “I have rules that I hold myself to. First, I don’t fuck around with safewords. So if you want to be willy-nilly and throw it around, you might as well get the hell out right now. It’s not a toy, so don’t fucking play with it.” Thomas spat at him, casting him a sharp glance before continuing. Alex was getting restless. This was taking so long, and he just wanted to  _ start _ , but he knew a hell of a lot better than to fuck with Thomas right now. 

“Second, you give the safeword, and I stop immediately and go straight to aftercare. No ‘but’s, no ‘what if’s, I don’t wanna hear it unless you specifically state to resume. I hear the safeword, and I stop, capiche? No questions asked until precisely three hours following.” he put this point forward extremely clearly so that Alex understood that it was _unmistakably_ rigid. 

“That brings me to  _ your  _ rule number four. You tell me exactly what crossed the line at that time. I’m a body reader. If your body reacts in a way contrary to how you’re taking it mentally, I’ll never know. You speak up.” the man swung his crop in a slow circle at his side.

Alex tugged at his handcuffs, “I ‘on’t eed to.” Alexander slurred strugglingly around the gag. Thomas blinked and turned his austere eyes to him.    
“Really? Is that what you think?” he slowly approached him, swinging his crop, “Remind me, does your twink-ass have any experience here?” Thomas spat the insult, stopping in front of him. Alex just sniffed, swirling his tongue around the bit and looked to the ground. He shook his head. 

“That’s what I thought.” Thomas sneered, turning away once again, “Leave the talking to me, Alexander; I don’t want to hear your pathetic slurs, and I don’t have the time or patience to put up with that kind of arrogance.” Alex fumed down at the floor, desperately desiring to snap back and argue with Thomas. He could play with the big dogs if he wanted to; Thomas had no idea what he could handle. But the dom’s point was that neither did Alexander. 

“This is my playing field, slut. You read micro expressions, do you? Think you’re inside my head?” 

There was laughter in Thomas’s eyes as he cocked his chin up in the air and stared down on his degraded, helpless partner, “I’m inside of yours. I will play your body like a fiddle, Alexander.” he breathed, relishing the sight of Alex trying to look threatening while he was down on his painfully bruised knees, arms locked behind his back and frothing uncontrollably around a gag. It was time to begin, Thomas decided, and his heart picked up the pace. Everything was in order; the stage was set. 

He paced back towards Alex, moving slowly, and the boy tried to look up as much as he could with the leather pulling at the soaked corners of his lips. 

“I know exactly how hard to hurt you until you’re screaming on the edge of consciousness. I know exactly how your body twitches when you’re pleading it not to orgasm.” he spoke cooly, getting closer and closer with every carefully placed footfall. Alex’s chest rose and fell faster now, gaining speed the closer Thomas drew.    
“I know how your eyes flutter when you’re close and how your back arches when you’re cumming all over yourself like a slut.” Alex swallowed futilely, squirming at the mention. Did the man really take note of all of this  _ just  _ for this moment? Was he so observant? His dom’s eyes gleamed with wrathful amusement. 

“I know exactly how to bring you to the brink of your limit and hold you there for as long as I please as you try uselessly to cum. Hips hitching, perhaps. Legs crossing. I know exactly when to take it away  _ just  _ before you can have it, how to leave you squirming and whimpering for stimulation, and I’m just going to  _ stand  _ there,” Thomas nodded cooly to the gleaming surgical table, “at the end of the table and watch your burning desperation. I’ll probably be laughing too, Alexander. At your struggle.”

“You’re ’espicable.” Alexander growled, clenching his teeth with a clatter over the glistening, dripping metal. He was so hard. So impossibly hard right now. 

“Despicable. No.” Thomas huffed an amused breath, stopping in front of his submissive. He peered down and rotated his crop to the correct position in his gloved hand, watching Alex twitch when he just lightly settled it on his rock-hard bulge. It was far too small a thing for Alex to even think of grinding into, but the sensation of something touching his throbbing cock caused an embarrassing noise that nobody needed to know about in his throat. Thomas heard it alright. 

“I’m just being fair, Allie baby.” he grumbled in that deep, rumbly voice and trailed the tip of the cop up and over Alex’s bulge, bumping over his golden snake belt and taking his time on his beautiful belly. He wanted to see it out in the open now. Immediately. But he was the monarch here, and he must exercise patience. Thomas lowered the crop back to his side and extended his hand this time. 

“I remember saying that when the consequences came to you, not to say I didn’t warn you.” Alex was hit with a train of conflicting desires in that moment, watching Thomas’s hand come towards him. At the exact same time, he wanted to cringe away, but also to lean into it like a kitten. So he compromised with himself and did absolutely nothing. 

“Mm.” Thomas hummed, pinching a lock of hair between his fingers and twirling it, “Thought I was bluffing, did you?” he taunted, tucking it behind Alexander’s ear, and the boy flinched with a blink when his leather fingertips brushed his temple. 

“Aw.” Thomas mocked, gazing down at his frothing mouth and frustrated, flustered cheeks, “I like you like this, Allie baby.” he purred, drawing back the hand only to stroke the back of his fingers over Alex’s cheek, petting him like a specimen. This time Alexander was too stubborn to let him be sweet, and he tried to jerk away with a growl; the guy was rubbing it in on purpose to be a dick. Thomas simply laughed at him, running his gloved hand over the top of Alex’s head, smoothing down his hair a few times. His warm, silken fingers caressed the back of his neck--the odd sensation was exotic and and overwhelming as he was handled like a pet, a possession. The mood, however, suddenly took a veering turn when the large, warm hand cupped around the front of his throat, keeping his head straight up and guided his gaze upwards. 

“Get up, Alex. Now.” the words were spoken on a sigh, but they were in such a  _ serious  _ fucking tone of voice like Thomas was done playing around with him; he’d had his fun. The boy paused, trying to think of how to do this with his wrists bound and his throat held hostage; it was going to be awkward if he accidentally head-butted Thomas point-blank in the dick .

He grunted, unsure of what the hell he was doing as he rocked heavily to one side and lifted his opposite leg, placing his shoe firmly on the floor in a lunge position. The sore muscles weren't helping his case as he struggled to stand up, Thomas looking down at him with a newfound darkness behind his eyes. Alex huffed, straightening himself in Thomas’s grip once he was on both feet and couldn’t hold back a swallow. His throat bounced against the warm, tight leather; Thomas could feel it against his palm, so delicate and fragile, and yet he wanted to dig his fingers into the flesh, hear him squeal and whimper. It was time to get this kid out of his clothes. 

He tilted his chin, sizing Alexander up, and the boy stared at him, scanning into his dark eyes and trying to assess him. His plans. Thomas lifted his crop to Alex’s face, and this time, he didn’t even flinch--it was slow enough. With excellent dexterity, Thomas tucked hair behind his ear, dragging the tip down his cheekbone when he was done in soft conclusion.   
“I’m taking your clothes off now, slut. One more time. You want to do this?” he rumbled deeply, and Alexander tried his best with a smirk around his gag, and dipped his head in an unmistakable “yes”. Mhm, he thought. He wanted this  _ bad _ . He wanted this  _ filthy.  _

“Good boy.” Thomas nodded curtly, and flicked the crop under his arm. The man peered darkly down at Alex, daintily tugging his gloves one at a time before extending them to Alex’s throat, but this time to undo his tie. There was no sound in the silent room but the huff of breath from both men, the shimmying of fabric as Thomas expertly uwound the knot and fed it through itself until he could thread it out of Alex’s collar. The boy just stood and watched, hazel eyes twitching down with Thomas’s every movement. 

He could get out of these cuffs. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind as he ran the pad of his finger up the back, feeling for the weak spots and finding them, but he stayed put. If there was anything in the world that was going to escalate his punishment, it would be if he twitched a provocative brow at his dom and let the leather cuffs thud to the floor, holding up his hands and saying, “Allow me to help you with that, driver-boy.”

But it was only a vision as he bit his tongue against all of his mischievous words and watched Thomas bend a bit to work at his expensive Gucci belt. Thomas stared at it for a moment, tilting the golden, twisted snake buckle up to the light so he could observe. Alex could see it reflecting in his dark eyes, the memories flashing behind his irises.   
“If I didn’t have plans, Alexander, I’d whip you with your own belt.” he spoke, letting it fall back to normal position indifferently to unbuckle it and pull it, slithering, out of the loops. Alex felt it snake out around his hips until it was in Thomas’s hand, folded once, twice, and then placed on the ground. 

Thomas was more efficient and less showy with the rest of Alex’s clothing, stripping down his pants, yanking them down his pretty, hairless legs, and did a round to uncuff him and pull off his suit jacket and button-up shirt. He made quick work of it, an expert on getting boys undressed in under a minute flat until Alex was standing, bare naked and gagged at the center of his bedroom. Thomas took a step back, head cocked in the air to get a good look at his latest prey, eyeing him up and down like an object. 

Alexander wasn’t about to let himself be subordinated so easily, and perhaps that contributed to the desperate desire to humble him, Thomas speculated. 

He stood tall, postured defiantly despite his naked state. His neck was arched beautifully, a bit hindered by the restricted movement of the metal stuffed in his mouth and the leather around his head, but he still managed to retain a shred of dignity despite the saliva and awkward gag. The dome above had faded to a light ashy hue, signaling cloudiness outside, but the new light fell on Alex and shadowed his sharp bone structure. His elegantly curved collar bones cast shade onto his chest that was expanding and exhaling with breath, revealing his ravishing ribs above his impossibly, seamlessly smooth belly. 

Alex stood there, recalcitrant and regal as Thomas slowly mapped his body with his eyes. His shapely cock was hard, as it had been for nearly fifteen minutes, and the boy was completely unashamed. He shifted, hip bones one of his best features, and he knew that Thomas liked that. The driver, however, had other plans, and his eyes settled on his lean, proportionate thighs. Dark, wine colored bruises blossomed like roses on both knees, blotchy and blemishing on such a smooth, attractive body. Thomas’s lips twitched behind his mask at the sight of the visual pain he had already inflicted on him, and the anticipation of the continuation of such pain. The man inhaled, clearing his throat as he reached up to curl his fingers around his crop. 

“You look pathetic, Alexander.” he spoke evenly, stepping forward so that they were face to face. Alex scowled at him rebelliously with burning hazel eyes, not yet backing down into submission. That was to be expected. Thomas continued his walk, circling as he would in an interrogation. 

“You look like a disgraceful slut. Pathetic.” he spat and struck Alex’s thigh like a striking snake, unexpected and lashing too quickly to be anticipated. 

“Grr!” Alex growled primitively through gritted teeth around the bit, tensing up and clenching his muscles and ass. That was when Thomas noticed this cute little dimple that Alex had on his left ass cheek. Just one, on the left side of his left cheek. Thomas blinked with surprise; he wouldn’t have expected it on such a smooth body, but it was strikingly sexy. Inexplicably so. Alex hissed sharp breaths through clenched teeth and tried to jerk up the leg that had been struck, but Thomas whipped him again with a snapping crack of leather on skin. 

“Put that fucking leg down.” he spat cruelly, watching Alex squeal again, “Fucking little pussy. You should be able to take a riding crop, you spineless slut.” he snarled, rounding behind him as Alex panted, growling with each breath. Thomas came up the other side and snapped another quick blow of the crop up on his hip this time, just to watch him move it. Alex whined like a brat, leaning forward and contorting around where he’d been struck involuntarily. Thomas’s mouth watered as Alexander flexed, and he watched with a dark, hungry gaze while the red marks rose on his delicate skin, streaking him with three stinging, raw patches of skin. In the silence, the boy just panted, bare belly rising and falling as he slowly straightened himself back up. 

Thomas waited for his gaze and daintily tightened the knot up his black tie, ensuring that it was elegantly in place. Alex didn’t bring his eyes to Thomas like he knew he was supposed to. Fuck him. He was far too interested in these lashes on his sides. He brought his hands in front to gingerly touch his hip with his fingertips, and it stung. He hissed in a sharp breath between his teeth. 

“Don’t touch yourself.” Thomas snapped, eyes flashing with time-sensitive warning. Alex turned his whole head up, giving Thomas an incredulous, falsely-accused dirty look: what the hell did he do? The dom just scowled at him, dark brows furrowing over his shaded eyes. 

“That means don’t fucking touch yourself, stupid bitch. I don’t care where; you’re not putting your hands on your body.” he explained darkly, his voice dripping with warning, “Get used to that command, you worthless fucktoy.” he gave him one degrading look up and down before Alexander made his fatal mistake. 

And shook his head, hair swishing with silent, seething, wronged outrage and lazily flipped Thomas a lazy, limp middle finger, giving up on trying to understand his fucking rules. He was too busy stewing down at his bare feet to comprehend Thomas’s entire demeanor darkening. 

“Alright. You want me to be the bad guy? Is that it?” 

Alexander finally looked up, the realization of what he’d just done  _ ramming  _ over him like a metro train. His eyes widened involuntarily, glittering hazel in the cloudy light. Thomas seemed to grow taller, looming over him like a dark, angry god in a pitch colored suit. 

“I’ll be the fucking bad guy.” Thomas spat as he strode quickly up to Alexander and seized him by the left ear. The boy yelped, strangled through the metal sitting heavily on his tongue and stumbled over his opposite ankle. He snarled, hair falling down in front of his face, but Thomas roughly let him go when he’d dragged him across the room to the table. The sniper panted for breath and tossed his honey brown mane away from his face, a few strands of hair sticking to his impossible-to-dry lips and chin irkingly. When his eyes were cleared, he almost jumped. 

Thomas rounded the metal, surgical-like table to open one of the towering cabinets, and Alexander just stared.

The thing… was so gut-wrenchingly horrible and yet so intriguing. It radiated cold, cruel brutality but in a refined sort of way. It beckoned him with its gleaming, metallic surface, whispering politely for him to come and stay a while… 

Thomas looked over his shoulder, already collected the gear that he knew exactly where it would be. Alex glanced at the riding crop laid out on the smaller extension of the table, staring at it. Thomas’s voice snapped him back to reality. 

“Take seat, Alexander.” Thomas’s voice was terse but calmer, gesturing sharply with his eyes to the table. Alex swallowed silently, waiting for Thomas’s eyes to leave him before he did anything. 

This was it. This was going to happen.

It washed over Alexander all at once as he exhaled a shaky breath, numbly turning around in slow motion and gingerly placing both palms flat behind him on the surface. He almost jerked away from the cold sting, but he was in a sort of trance, and instead let his fingers gradually curl around the edge, icy adrenaline spreading through his chest like a blooming flower. On an inhale, he opened his eyes and hopped from the carpeted floor, landing his ass up on the edge of the table. This time, he _did_ hiss at the arctic sting against his bare-skinned ass, and didn’t stay in that position for long before he swung his legs up and over to lay straight out in front of him with soft thumps of his heels on metal. Thomas cast a glance over his shoulder, breathing through his mask. 

Alex--quite literally--chomped at the bit, frothing at the corners of his mouth and desperately trying to be discreet as he tossed his head in tiny nods to get the spit back in. Thomas watched, collecting four sets of shackles in his hands as Alex gave up and squirmed a bit on the counter, trying futility to get comfortable on a table designed for discomfort, ass jiggling when he bounced an inch. He sniffed, rapping his fingernails over the edge quietly as he waited. 

“On your back.” Thomas commanded, pushing the cabinet door closed and turning to fully face Alex and give him a degrading glance over his pretty face, “And cut it the fuck out; you’re gonna keep salivating like a dog, so stop trying.” he informed, placing a neatly folded black hand towel on the side table with a cruel glance. Alexander stormed silently and slowly walked his hands back behind him, knowing Thomas was just rubbing it in that he had all the power to end Alex’s war on his spit, but he would rather watch him suffer.

He tossed his head defiantly as he lowered down onto his elbows, forearms pressing against the cold surface, as he slowly… slowly reclined his back down flat on the table. His eyes fluttered, but he remained as calm as he possibly could be as the cold metal kissed his skin, exhaling when he quietly lowered the back of his head down to the surface and laid still. He could tell that Thomas was watching him, but he didn’t dare turn his head; he just stared straight up at the ceiling in avoidance. Thomas loomed over him to observe his prey. The way his ribs fluttered like butterfly wings in his chest, the way goosebumps spread up his body in waves, struggling not to shiver as his scant hair on his arms raised and stood on end. 

“Arms up, Alexander.” Thomas ordered, and Alex chewed on the bit for a moment, weighing his options.Thomas smiled from behind the mask when the kid shuffled on the table and lifted them above his head, stretching out his belly. Thomas licked his lips; he had his impulses as well that he needed to keep under control. He wanted to start at his navel and bruise hickeys up his belly until it was unrecognizable, scatter some bite marks, but he needed to wait for that, even if it looked so tantalizing stretched out on the surgical table. 

“Look at me. Mhm.” Thomas watched Alex turn his head, a string of spit pooling from the corner of his mouth and dripping down to make a tiny puddle, and within those hazel eyes… Thomas smirked. The boy was finally submitting--at least to that part. He inhaled, stepping up to the top of the table with shackles draped over his arm. As he passed, Alex got a good look at them; they were expensive. That’s all that he could say: they were shining, cruel, and each with a trail of chain links running like snakes from the wrist restraints. 

“Good boy, Allie. Taking the bit like a little whore.” he offered a rare scrap of praise, and completely on its own accord, Alexander’s cock twitched on his belly. Alex was lucky Thomas didn’t see it--he was facing the other direction--but Alex was freaked out by that behavior. His cock had literally reacted to praise by its own devices, twitched to give a little spurt of friction on the swollen head at his belly. 

Thomas gazed down on his submissive and placed a warm, leather-gloved hand on his chest, gliding it up towards his arm with another inhale. Alexander squirmed at the feeling that was both orgasmic and alien to him, but he  _ jerked  _ when the warm leather made its way over his obviously sensitive nipple. Alexander made a tiny whine deep in his throat and Thomas just sneered, running his hand up Alex’s arm now, over his raised hair and goosebumps to press the back of his hand to the chilly table. 

“This is why I chain you up. You can’t handle yourself. And you make it public.” he shamed, lifting Alex’s hand to place it in the, once again, freezing cuff and shackling it with a clink of metal. The chains clanged against the table as Thomas fastened it down by his head, giving him precisely one chain link segment to move. About an inch. As Thomas strolled down to do his ankle, he pulled just for shits. Yep, he thought. He wasn’t fucking going anywhere. 

“Mm!” Alex opened his mouth too wide, pulling back his tongue against the obstruction in his mouth and jerked his leg. His cock moved on his belly again, providing minimal stimulation.    
“Shut the fuck up.” Thomas snarled the warning, continuing to shackle his ankle down to the table, “I’m sick and tired of you whining like a crybaby.” he shamed, not bothering to cast Alex a glance as he roughly let go of his ankle with a clinking of chains and continued up the other side. 

Alex’s heart was already thudding like a hummingbird’s wings in his chest. He couldn’t imagine what Thomas was about to do to him… how many different kinds of whips had he seen in just that one glance he had stolen a day ago? But the man wasn’t a casual spanking and then missionary, no. He had much…  _ much  _ more than whips in there, and Alex knew from his own common sense that he hadn’t seen the half of it, and even if he had, he wouldn’t know what half of it even was. 

The sniper was shocked out of his thoughts by hands on his hips. He jerked his head up, straining against his gag and cuffs to peer over his chest. Thomas was gazing down on him, and both hands up his sides, dipping in the curves of his waist and brushing lightly over his ribs. Alexander wanted to  _ writhe _ , but he bit down on the metal and  _ trembled,  _ vibrating so hard not to squirm with sensitivity. Thomas ran his hands back down his waist, and up a few times, touching his body, mapping him with leather-clad hands.    
“You like to arch this." he tapped a finger lightly under his back, "And I can’t have that.” The grumbled, and this time, he reached down in the space under the table and shuffled his hand down there, leaving one to lay atop Alexander’s rising and falling belly like a doctor listening to his breath. Thomas yanked with a huff, and pulled out… 

“Binds. You can’t keep yourself still and behave, they’ll teach you to sit still real quick.” Alexander twitched as Thomas lay two  _ thick  _ black leather straps over his abdomen, four and a half inches wide of leather that was the furthest from “faux” that you could ever get. Each strap had two gleaming buckles, and Thomas sniffed, setting them on top of Alex before he himself leaned over the boy to reach under the opposite side. Alex’s breath hitched. 

The black fabric of Thomas’s suit was brushing lightly over the underside of his cock, moving back and forth as the man pulled up the other side of the binds, teasing him. This side had the straps with holes and Thomas stood back up, expertly starting at the top and fastening them down against Alexander’s body. Thomas wasn’t playing around--he fit these  _ very  _ snugly against the sub’s little figure, pinning him down with no chance of movement and jerking to make sure they were in place. The only sound in the room was the clinking of buckles as Thomas finished fastening down Alexander’s hips, fixing him to the cold metal. 

To test that everything was in place, the dom stood up straight and daintily tugged at the wrist of his left glove before lowering his hand to Alexander’s cock. The boy’s eyes darted from his dom’s face to his hand to his cock in a fraction of a second, and his heart leaped a beat when Thomas slid his fingers under it and lifted.

“Mmm.” Alexander’s little whine ended on a high note as Thomas bounced his cock down into his palm and gave it an  _ incredibly  _ loose stroke on the base of the shaft. Alexander had never felt something so odd and yet so  _ intriguing-- _ Thomas’s hand through the seamless material--and the boy swallowed and immediately attempted to roll his hips up into Thomas’s hand, fucking it himself. But he… couldn’t move. The boy chewed on the bit, craning over his heaving chest to look at Thomas’s dark hand curled loosely around his cock and the binds holding him down so he could do nothing about it. The man in the mask gently laid his cock down on his belly, going out of his fucking way to give Alexander no friction whatsoever. 

“I don’t need this right now.” he spoke about Alexander’s member and rolled back his shoulders to step out of sight. The sniper squirmed against his immobilization, the feeling of being completely locked up, completely helpless, rather… familiar, and he finally gave up in frustration and let his head fall back on the table. Thomas carefully closed the cabinet drawer and Alexander listened to the click, ears straining to understand what Thomas was doing, as he couldn’t see him. Another strand of spit seeped out onto the tiny pool on the metal, and he tried desperately to toss his head and get it back in, but he was useless. Thomas was right: he would salivate like a filthy dog no matter how he struggled. 

“You know why I’m going to hurt you today, Alexander?” Thomas spoke, his voice ringing clearly. There was a swishing of fabric as the man slowly… slowly stepped back into Alexander’s range of view. The boy’s heart nearly stopped at the sight. He swallowed, mouth dry as sand. 

Thomas twirled lazily--almost with  _ cruel  _ nonchalance--a black, multiple tailed whip. It’s ends swished, dark and thin with a bit of stiffness to them, and the thing in Thomas’s hand, wielded so coolly, rubbing against his hip and upper thigh, was almost sickeningly horrible. Alex’s stomach lurched, and once again, Thomas watched as his pupils visibly dilated, launching him into survival mode, pumping adrenaline into his veins. 

“I’m hurting you cause you’ve been a very…” he kept strolling around the table, and this time he lifted the horrible whip to touch Alex’s ankle, “ _ very  _ bad boy.” Alex flinched at the touch. It felt like wires on his skin, slithering like baby snakes over his curled-toed foot, his calf twitching. His neck ached from holding it up to keep track of Thomas’s movements, and it was beginning to vibrate with exhaustion. 

The man’s gloved hand held the hilt daintily, trailing the tails over both of Alex’s ankles with leisure. It was at that point that Alexander realized that the table was precisely at pelvic-height for Thomas; he could only see the top of the man’s black leather belt and up. He had an idea for the reason behind that…

Thomas came up to Alex’s right side, dragging the tails of the slithering whip up his thigh… tantalizingly slowly. Alex’s eyes grew wider, watching its black tendrils trail up his leg. 

“This is my little friend. Say hello, Alex, you two are going to be… very well acquainted.” Thomas had laughter in his eyes as he lifted the whip from Alex’s skin, the boy’s head fell back in relief. Thomas sighed quietly and brought his other hand to it, running the tails through his leathered hand and letting them fall out like a waterfall. 

“Now, my favorite is the bullwhip, but I don’t think you could handle that in your first time. So I’d like to introduce the Cat.” he ran the tails through his hands again, bringing it closer for Alex to get a good, long look at, “The Cat O’ Nine Tails, Alexander. A torture whip generally used in the old British Army and in prison’s until outlaw until the twentieth century…” Thomas growled, casually brushing hair out of Alexander’s face as he spoke, “But I’m not here to give you a history lesson, slut. Your lesson will be in discipline, and you’re going to be helping me with your punishment.” 

Alex’s head snapped to the side in a movement that he was trying to avoid. When he was laying with his head straight up, he could stave off the drool, but when he pressed his temple to the side of the table, he just made another little puddle on this side. His brows swooped down curiously at Thomas, confused. The man stared at him, darkness spilling from his black gaze as he lifted a hand to rest on Alex’s upper thigh. The sniper quavered, lifting it an inch from the table, but Thomas pushed it back down, inhaling. 

“I’m going to be speaking with you while you take my whip, so you, slut, are going to be keeping count for daddy.” he rubbed his hand up and down Alex’s thigh slowly, feeling his bare flesh, naked and helpless on the table. Alexander wanted to cross his legs as Thomas slid his hand around to his inner thigh, stroking down to his knee before coming up higher… higher. Just before he touched Alexander’s cock, he lifted his hand towards the boy’s head and unbuckled his bit in with one flick of his fingers. Immediately, Alex sputtered wetly, spit bubbling at the corners of his mouth when Thomas pulled away the metal. Strings of saliva connected him to the horrible device before they were broken as Thomas lifted it to place it on the table extension. That was a signal that they weren’t through with the wretched thing yet. 

“Say a word and it goes right back in your mouth. Slathered with soap. Don’t push it, you little fucker.” Thomas warned, looming over the boy as his mouth made wet sounds, his red, swollen lips opening and closing as he pursed the and swallowed, licking over them to gulp down the excess spit that had pooled helplessly under his tongue. On his chin, he had nothing he could do about that. 

“Now, listen very closely, because I’m only going to say this once.” Thomas spoke evenly, returning his hand to Alex’s thigh, sweeping over it and around inside, feeling him up. 

“Every time I whip your pretty little thighs, you will thank me once for your punishment.” Thomas explained coolly, tightening his grip on the Cat at his side, “Let’s practice.” he sniffed and nodded, taking one step back and rotating the whip’s hilt in his hand, the tails shuffling against his pant leg. Alexander looked over at him, fingers twitching on his shackled hands as he comprehended what was going on. His hazel eyes widened, adrenaline spurting icily through his chest in panic. Thomas’s eyes darkened at seeing the  _ fear  _ in Alex’s. He couldn’t wait. He couldn’t  _ wait  _ to put the lash to his legs. 

“Thomas.” Alex’s voice wavered the tiniest bit, uncharacteristic of his usually self-confident tone, he shuffled, bare skin sticking to the table, “Please go gentle on me… please be gent- _ LE AH _ !” his words cut off into a roar and chains clanged as he tried violently to convulse, his right leg jolting on the table. He squeezed his eyes shut before snapping them open as wide as dinner plates, his mind launching into overdrive at the twinging sting that rippled and shot all the way up his leg.    
“Haahh...Hahhh…” he panted heavily, letting his head thunk back down to the table in agony. Thomas grunted, placing two fingers on the red streaks raising on his fair, smooth skin. Horizontal across his thigh, it was beautiful to see, nine thin red lines on his trembling thigh and surely stinging like a motherfucker. 

“Shit!” Alex hissed between his teeth, ribs fluttering madly at the touch. 

“What do you say to me?” Thomas looked down at Alex, still trying to cope with the pain, and didn’t respond. The man just pressed his fingers down harder on the spot, not uttering another word. 

“Thank you, sir.” Alex responded, swallowing against his pretty throat and blinking his eyes open, “Thank you for my punishment.” 

“Very good.” Thomas grunted with a considerate frown and bob of his head, finding the response adequate. He lifted both fingers to hear Alex hiss again. He swung the whip slowly around to show off his incredible dexterity and trained skill with the horrid thing. 

“I’m going to whip you  _ twenty _ times until you are crying and screaming for it to stop.” he explained letting the tails sweep over his sensitive belly that twitched beautifully against the touch with a pitiful little whimper, “Remember, cumslut. ‘No’ and ‘stop’ aren’t going to help you here. Remember the safeword.” he held the whip just above Alex’s beautiful, beautiful belly. God, he could devour it. 

“After you politely thank your daddy for the lashing, you will say the number you’re on, starting at twenty. If I can’t hear the number, I’m going to whip your twink ass again until you speak up like an adult. You don’t count it, it doesn’t count, do you understand, Alexander?” He spoke firmly, trailing the tips ticklishly back over Alex’s belly, and the boy squirmed, tempted to whimper and burst out in giggles at the same time. God, he was so ticklish; it wasn’t fair. 

“Yes, daddy.” he spoke breathlessly, tossing some hair from his face discreetly. His heart was beating out of his chest, his leg was burning with lancing pain, and yet he wanted to see Thomas in the fullest, wanted to watch him destroy him with that methodical flick of his wrist, so trained and specialized. The pain translated differently for the teenager than it would for most people. The more in pain he endured, the harder his cock throbbed against his belly, hard and aching. It wouldn’t be long before the precum started leaking and Thomas had another thing to degrade him for. Thomas inhaled, ready to begin, and parted his feet. 

“Your behavior today… was inexcusable. Absolutely unacceptable.” he reeled back professionally, lifting his shoulder and flicking his wrist so the tails slapped down on Alex’s thigh, jiggling the skin when it made cracking contact. 

“Auhh…” Alexander arched his chest up a bit from the table, releasing a throaty moan with a wide open mouth. Thomas was disgusted, yet intrigued at this reaction that was probably a honeymoon response: it wouldn’t last once things got too painful. But for the moment, it was impossibly erotic to see the boy trying to arch, trying to release his pleasure, his pretty lips parted for a moan. 

“So let’s start at the top.” Thomas whispered, waiting for Alexander to contribute his part. The boy blinked his eyes open and licked his lips before speaking. 

“Thank you, sir… twenty, sir.” he spoke each phrase on a different breath, a little short on it. Thomas only grunted in response, slapping the Cat against his own leg.    
“Last night, daddy told you not to have anyone over in his house.” he spoke, raising his chin, “And what did you do, you despicable brat?” he brought the whip down on Alex’s leg, striking it with expert precision. The leather tails snapped against his jerking thigh, and this time, Thomas held it there, draping over the criss-crossing streaks of blush pink and darkening rose. 

“Thank you!” he spat before he was even done convulsing, “Thank you sir…”   
“How many, Alexander?” Thomas growled. 

“Nineteen, sir.” Alex’s head fell back down to the table with a painful sounding “thump”, and he went silent, staring up at Thomas with fearful defiance in his hazel eyes. He hadn’t lost his fire yet, not with three whiplashes he hadn’t. Thomas would fix that all in good time. The dom swung the swip expertly, striding like a king around the foot of the table while Alexander just laid there in his binds and trembled, toes curling and uncurling. 

“What did you do, Alexander? I asked you a question, I expect an answer.”    
“I... brought someone over. Laurens.” Alex panted his response, gulping a breath of air and trying once again to shuffle in his binds. It was futile. Thomas pursed his lips and nodded his head as he rounded him slowly, circling like a predator. 

“That’s what I thought. You disobedient  _ slut _ .” Thomas reached the other side and slashed his arm down, harder this time, sharper, but as always, controlled. There was a violent ‘clank!’ as Alex yanked against his wrist and ankle shackles, attempting uselessly to curl in on himself. His slim bicep line popped as he held there in that strained position, the tendons on his neck bulging out as he jerked his head up to peer over his chest and sight the damage. This time, he groaned, throaty and desperate, and louder than before. Thomas’s chin raised; the boy was tipping over the border from pleasure to pain. 

“What do you say, fuckslut?” 

“Eighteen, sir. Thank you.” his voice was incredibly strained, throat constricted in this awkward, tense position. Thomas nodded again, bobbing his head with pursed lips at the confession. 

“Bad boy.  _ Bad  _ boy.” Thomas spat through clenched teeth, bringing the whip cracking down again to a high-pitched yelp that rang in the space. The boy whipped his head back, and Thomas only rotated the hilt in his hand, “You’re a misbehaving little pain whore. God, you’re pathetic.”

“Seventeen… sir.” was Alexander’s only response, a hint of anger in his pained growl, a shiver running up his spine and causing him to shudder on the table. Thomas’s eyes glinted; he liked watching him shudder like that, so defenseless to the urge. 

“Look at me.” Thomas pressed the hard base of the whip up under the soft part of Alex’s chin, tilting his face roughly in his direction by force. His amber eyes were glistening with a sheen of watery glaze. Alex breathed with an open mouth, his lips slightly parted, and for a strange moment, Thomas wished that his austerely ravishing mask would vaporize so he could taste those lips, lick wetly into his mouth and lap at his tongue. He blinked, allowing the oddly jarring urge to pass. 

“And imagine my surprise.” Thomas raised his voice a degree and pressed the hard handle of the Cat into the soft flesh beneath his chin, digging into the spot he knew would inflict pain. Sure enough, Alexander squealed. Actually…  _ squealed _ . 

“When I stopped in the observation box to see you laying on your belly like an immodest fucking  _ skank _ . Lafayette’s filthy hands all over you like any man’s hooker.” Thomas snapped the whip away from Alexander’s chin only to bring it down on his left thigh for the second time, cracking like rain as the nine tails slashed his skin. This time, he screamed. It wasn’t a throat-shredder like when he orgasmed, at least not yet, but it was vocal and ringing, high pitched and  _ tortured _ . 

“Swear to God, Alexander, do you sleep around with the whole bureau?” Thomas  _ glared  _ down at Alex who just shook his head, swallowing. The dom rolled his eyes, “You’re disgusting. I ought to beat the shameless whore right out of you. What do you say to me? Huh?” he paused, “Ay, look me in the eyes like a fucking adult and speak the hell up.  _ Right  _ now.”

“Thank you… for my punishment, sir…” Thomas pursed his lips and nodded.    
“Yeah, you’re fucking welcome. How many, Alexander?” Thomas commanded even though he knew full well, tapping his toe.

“Sixteen, sir.” Alex started to croak, just beginning to break down beneath Thomas. The driver hadn’t lied about what he’d said earlier; he was a body-reader. Alex’s bottom lip quivered briefly before he bit it and staved it off; his brows were turned up and his fingers curled and flexed against his shackles, white-knuckled; and his chest rose and fell shakily, ribs, collarbones, perfect, round, suck-able brown nipples and all . He was trying desperately not to cry. 

“Mm.” Thomas grunted, unsatisfied as he raised the whip again and Alexander flinched, his cock bouncing and twitching once on his belly, erect as humanly possible, “And what do you do when I come down to get the bastard’s hands away from my little fucktoy? Disrespect me.” he twirled the whip once before cracking it on the boy’s slightly jiggling thigh, his cock jumping with this one too and as it did so, a tiny spurt of clear precum squirted out of the tip. It dripped, pearling on his belly. 

“Mmm.” Alexander whined like a baby, ending on a high pitched squeal, but Thomas brought the whip slashing down again. And again. 

“Ah! Augh!  _ Ah! _ ” Alexander screamed, writhing in his clanking chains, jerking in agony and trying to twist his leg inwards to protect the delicate inner thigh, but he was helpless. Thomas made sure the stinging nine tails of the whip pricked and lashed at his sensitive skin. 

“Hey. Hey.” Thomas snapped darkly, reaching forward to cup Alex’s knee and pull it towards him, opening his legs, “knees apart. You should know how to do that, filthy whore.” Alexander gulped in sharp breaths with high pitched whimpers, extremely vocal as he panted like a dog. His fingers were trembling, curled in on his palms, and his stretched up arms quivered violently. Alexander bit his lip in pained frustration, and it trembled between his teeth, hissing breath through his nose and urgently trying to cope with the pain and fend off the tears at the same time. He was a panicky mess. 

Thomas took a moment to loom over him and hold his legs open, peering down at the damage he’d done so far. Horizontal streaks raised against his skin, pink and scarlet already, especially defined on the softness of his inner thigh. Some of them criss crossed over each other on the boy’s lean, fair skin. Thomas opened him up more, crawling his fingers down to lift up the inside of the leg and do a check like a doctor. All the same down there, so he pushed him back down to the table and slid his hand down to his knee. 

“Your unacceptable behavior should have stopped when I gave you these.” Thomas expertly held Alexander’s calf and pressed one gloved thumb under his kneecap and pushed up on the skin, and Alex  _ screamed.  _

“Oh my GOD!” he wailed, jerking his legs and curling his toes, this time, a rough sob tore from his throat. 

“Sit still.” Thomas commanded, watching Alex squeeze his eyes shut and the first tears pearled and leaked front the corners, rolling down his temples before he could clamp violently down on his lip again and wrack a ruining sob, “Ow ow ow ow…” Alex whimpered pitifully on a high-pitched, shaky exhale, “Ow-w-w-w.” his chest heaved, and this innocent reaction absolutely ignited the dom. Thomas held his thumb there, pressing on his bruise. 

“I know. I know. It hurts.” Thomas spoke coolly, so calm that it was  _ cruel,  _ “So bad. And you deserve the pain, Allie baby. You  _ know  _ that.” he emphasized sympathetically, condescending him like a child, “Now tell daddy how many more lashes you deserve for being a naughty little whore.” Alex curled his toes, huffing madly to keep his cool,  _ still  _ denying that he was crying. Thomas held his thumb down on the bruise patiently. He could wait. He pressed the bruise and rubbed up in tiny circles, impossibly slow. The torture became too much. 

“Thirteen, sir…” Alex whimpered through a swallow, and he gulped a sharp gasp when Thomas let go of his knee with a nod, squeezing it for a moment with his foreign, warm gloved hand and nodded. 

“Thirteen. And ’S there anything else you’d like to say to me?” Alex closed his eyes, sobbing in complete silence, just vibrating quietly as he let his head fall to the side, wet cheek pressing against his shoulder and slipping, smearing it with the first few tears. Thomas watched his face, how his lips pouted, slightly parted against his shoulder and messy with tears. 

“Anything at all.”

“Thank you for my punishment…Sir...” Alex sniffled wetly, voice wavering precariously like it was going to crack. 

“Mhm.” Thomas acknowledged dully and regripped the whip at his side, “Don’t even think of trying to hide those bruises tomorrow.” he grumbled dangerously, watching Alex’s skin twitch as he slowly grazed the tails on his upper thigh, this time letting them brush on Alex’s hardened cock. The boy whined in his throat. 

“You’re going to wear shorts, and I want everyone to see you walking at my side with those ugly bruises on both knees and know the filth that you’ve done. My little teenage cockslut.” he reeled his shoulder back and flicked his wrist, whipping Alex a degree harder than he had been. There was a whistling sound of the tails arching through the air before they snapped expertly on Alex’s ruined thigh, causing it to jump involuntarily. 

“ _ Oh!  _ Twelve!” Alex caterwauled, clenching his teeth and squeezing his eyes shut. His cheeks were flustered now, his hair beginning to dampen slightly with sweat, and Thomas inhaled, stepping back and tucking the whip under his arm to daintily straighten his attractive black tie against his black collar. His mask stayed perfectly in place on his defined cheekbones, beautiful on the man’s face. Thomas rounded the foot of the table as he worked at the knot, speaking as well. 

“I warned you several times to watch your mouth at the conference. Several times, Alexander.” he placed a single finger on Alex’s ankle shackle as he rounded the corner, strutting like a regal lord with all the time in the world. Alexander lay sobbing in silence on the table, slowly curling and uncurling his toes,  _ slowly  _ trying to squirm and cope with the twinging burn like searing fire on his legs, throbbing and stinging with his heartbeat. 

“Did I not tell you to watch your fucking mouth?” Thomas stopped with a swish of fabric, planting his feet on Alexander’s right side. The boy didn’t answer, just vibrated, his face was buried in his shoulder on the opposite side, hidden. Thomas screwed up his lips and rotated the handle once with a creak of leather before he whipped Alexander again. The boy’s body jerked with a clink of chains as new welts rose on his skin. 

“Mm _ m  _ yes,  _ yes _ ! You told me… fucking…” Alexander choked for breath,  _ heaving  _ in high pitched squeals before releasing a yelping scream when Thomas whipped him again. It only got more intense as he added a third and Alex jerked viciously against his restraints.    
“I did. I told you to watch your  _ fucking  _ mouth, and you go up there and make a fool out of both of us like the clueless jackass you know you are.”

“I did…” Alexander sniffled wetly, heaving a rough, coarse sob through gritted teeth, spit frothing at the corners and spraying as he snarled, “what I fucking had to.” 

“Alright. You’re done.” Thomas clipped shortly, his tone veering rapidly to  _ dead fucking serious _ . 

“Lay your…  _ fucking  _ head down,” Thomas grunted, pushing Alex’s head to the table with a hand squeezing his cheeks so his fingers made indents. Alexander had the nerve to glare at him and try to bare his teeth, but Thomas dug his fingers into his face and held it down, grasping hard not to slip on his tear streaks.    
“Look at me,” he continued his list, wrenching Alex’s face to look up at him before letting go of him roughly and pointing hostilely right up in his tear-smeared face. His black eyes flashed lividly above his mask, radiating power. 

“You did what you wanted to do, because you’re an arrogant, selfish, fucker with no good purpose other than being a dumb, easy hole to fuck. Lay down. I’m done negotiating with you.” Thomas shook his head, stepping back with disgust to put himself into position ony to catch sight of something glistening on Alex’s skin in the light. He took a fraction of a second to analyse before realizing that it was steadily leaking precum from Alexander’s cock, now diagonal to his belly with stiffness. 

The slick trail of liquid ran down his hip bone and over the raw patch of skin. Thomas’s heart pumped testosterone into his veins, enlivening him even further. He raised the whip, watching Alexander flinch before he slashed it over his right leg again, making it jerk uselessly. 

“Ughhh…Augh...” Alex groaned loudly, not holding anything back. He was in too much pain to think about shame, and now his crying was getting out of control. His pretty chest rose and fell unevenly with spurting breaths, his bottom lip fluttering in and out as he breathed through his mouth and  _ wept _ . He let his head fall to one side and then the other when Thomas whipped him yet again, the ‘thwap!’ ringing sharply in the room. 

“I hate you-u-u.” he sobbed when Thomas gave him a pause. The emotion suddenly surged up in Alexander and he yanked on his chains, violently tugging so his veins popped on his sweaty neck and forearms, “I  _ hate  _ you!” He screamed like a brat having a tantrum, breaking down into frustrated sobs as soon as the words had flung out of his mouth like knives. 

“For fuck’s sake, Alexander, pull yourself together. Look at you.” Thomas spat in disgust, “You’re pathetic. Fucking grow up.” Thomas sneered, swinging his wrist into position and watching Alexander yelp before he’d even struck him, bracing himself with a panicked little scream prior to the strike which crescendoed immediately. 

“Aaa _ AAA! _ ” he wailed, writhing and gasping for air on the table, his belly fluttering like a sail in stormy waters. The bead of precum leaked helplessly down his hip, slow and steady and oozing. 

“How many?” Thomas requested sternly, placing a warm hand on Alex’s thigh to hold him still, he was trembling that hard. The kid had a high pain tolerance, but this wasn’t an average flat-palmed spanking; this was a whipping with nine thin tails and a professional handler. Alexander was still broken down pitifully, sniffling wetly into his shoulder and trying to hide himself as well as he could while he wept. Thomas rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated huff for show. 

“Hey. Look at me when I’m fucking talking to you.” Thomas tangled his fingers in Alex’s damp hair and pulled his head to unveil his messy, smeared face with hair all stuck to his tear streaks. Thomas cursed himself for not giving him eyeliner once again. The dom grunted, cocking his head patronizingly down at the trainwreck that was Alexander. 

“Aww.” he tut-tutted, swiping a thumb roughly and carelessly under Alex’s eye and over his cheekbone, smudging tears, “you don’t want me to see you crying like a little girl? Is that it, baby boy?” Thomas pouted, watching Alex try to growl but just end up gritting his teeth and racking a sob in frustrated humiliation. Thomas knew how to do him just right so that he burned him up, mortified, and made him want to beg for more. Alex’s lip trembled between his teeth as he bit down on it to hold down his sobs, but not the wet flow of tears that pooled between his skin and the leather of Thomas’s glove, wetting the black just a bit. 

“Do your legs sting? Hm? That why you’re crying for me?” Thomas continued to humiliate him, brushing hair from his wet face with the tips of his fingers before letting go of him and retaining his eye contact, his dark eyes glinting steely and cold in the light. 

“How many more, Alexander?” he blinked coolly, “I won’t ask again.” the boy’s wet lip, swollen from biting, quivered precariously as he answered.    
“Seven, sir…” he ended on a wrack and bit it again. 

“Mhm.” Thomas grunted, shuffling into position with a rustle, “Seven more and you’ll understand not to open that whore mouth in public and act like a tweaking little bitch.” he explained his intentions, preparing himself. He wasn’t going to halt for the rest of the whipping; that he had already decided. And he was going to up the intensity a notch in terms of velocity. He stood back, eyes darkening beneath his shaded brows. 

“Keep counting, Alexander. Out loud.” he commanded, keeping the boys eyes and planning to continue doing so. He wanted to watch him scream. Alexander breathed against the leather binds over his belly, pressing his skin beautifully against them. Thomas could smell his fear, and he reeled back his torture weapon. 

“Six!” Alex cried out, quite literally, when the slash nearly tore him apart. He saw white, but he didn’t have time to recover, to gasp for breath before the next one came down on the opposite thigh with a crack.    
“Five, sir!  _ Thank  _ you!  _ Four _ !” He couldn’t keep up as Thomas whipped him again, the flaps of his suit falling against his hip with every stinging blow he provided. 

“Not gonna cut it Alexander…” he raised his voice in warning, growling the words as he raised his whip again in threat, and Alex cringed, turning his knees in with another spurt of precum. 

“Thank you, sir-r-r. Thank you…” he sobbed loudly sputtering and trying to lick his lips, “ _ Ah _ !” he shrieked with an airy voice crack as Thomas slashed, the nine tails slapping his right thigh to add more whiplash streaks to the growing collage. It was beautiful to watch, sultry and erotic to see the damage of criss crossing lashes above bruised kneecaps.

“Three sir. Three-e-e… Two-o-o.” he had almost no energy or breath left to scream as Thomas hit him again and again, and he just breathed the numbers, too breathless to fill his lungs and wail. Thomas loomed above him in his austere black suit, wielding all of the power in the palm of his hand. 

“One, sir… One more.” 

Thomas waited. He stood with the whip raised and awaited the moment that Alexander truly gave in, truly broke. 

“Please. Another…” his voice was so tiny, followed by a sniffle. There it was.

Finally. Thomas’s eyes gleamed as he pulled back and cracked the whip down on him one last time, the skin on his leg jiggling slightly as he made contact and stayed, resting the tails over his legs. There was nothing but a defeated squeal and then silence. 

For a few long moments, Thomas stood still, unmoving over Alexander and just watched him patiently, the only sound being muffled sniffling. His legs twitched at random intervals on the table, his toes remained curled. Undoubtedly, his legs were searing like hot ashes had been blown on them, throbbing and stinging like a motherfucker. They looked like art, all red and stinging and irritated. Thomas’s dark eyes swept over the tiny body on the table, how his chest rose and fell rapidly with hitching, quiet sobs. Thomas blinked coolly, ready to start winding Alex down from phase one.    
“Breathe…” his voice was firm, tinted with warning as he let the whip slither off the boy’s legs, drawing out a pitifully muffled whimper. Alex didn’t seem to obey

“Breathe, Alexander. You’re doing fine.” he grumbled encouragingly, keeping a careful eye on his sub as he ran the tails of the whip through his hand, folding it neatly to set it down on the side table with a quiet clatter. The boy whimpered shakily as he followed Thomas’s orders, drawing in unsteady breaths as his eyes twitched beneath his lids and wet, clumped eyelashes. Thomas waited, giving Alex a moment before he gently, considerately placed a hand on his thigh. The boy twitched and hissed in a sharp breath, but Thomas looked over at him. 

“Breathe. Look up at me, Allie baby.” Thomas requested, standing over him and working his hands with expert softness as he moved the legs slightly, doing his customary check that no blood had been drawn, even if he was entirely positive that his training in this area was impeccable. Alex breathed like a fish out of water, lips parted and blinked his eyes open. A tear slipped from the corner of each eye and beaded down into his damp hair. While Thomas checked his legs, he spoke.

“Your purpose, Alexander, is to please me. Your behavior today did not do so. And you should be ashamed.” his voice was cool and collected, gently setting down Alex’s leg on the table. The boy was impressed with the care he was taking. Obviously, he took this sort of safety thing seriously. Thomas placed his hand up on his belly instead, petting him soothingly in slow sweeps between the straps. 

“I gave you some lashes to remind you of your place. What do you say for them?”

The boy swallowed the lump in his throat and croaked, “Thank you, sir.” he submitted, and Thomas’s lips twitched into a smile. He drew back from Alex’s lower body to look directly in his eyes, and Alex blinked up at him. They were reddish like his cheeks, making the hazel color pop, and then brimmed and glistened with saltwater. For a moment, he looked completely innocent and helpless, all smugness and danger dissolved into oblivion. 

“What is your purpose?” Thomas blinked down on him, quizzing him methodically. Alex huffed a sob that hardly made any sound, but shook his body. 

“To please you, sir. To please you.”    
“That’s right. Very good.” Thomas wanted to smile, but he had a clinging feeling that Alexander was sucking up to push their punishment to phase two, so he reminded himself who he was dealing with and kept the walls up, forcing himself not to remove his mask for a moment and kiss his face. Instead he came up closer to Alexander’s head and halted. He peered down at those glistening eyes, tears slipping out silently. 

“You sit tight here while I get a few things for us to play with.” he spoke, reaching over the whip on the little table to the neatly folded black towel and lifted it, keeping it that way. Alex’s lip quivered, but he was winding down a bit from the intense sobbing, at least for now. Thomas sniffed, brushing hair out of his face with his fingertips before curling his hand around the back of Alexander’s head and neck, warm and smooth as it laced with his long, splayed out hair. 

“I’m putting the bit back in, Allie. And I don’t want to hear any tears: you’re going to hate this torture as much as the last, just a fact of life.” Thomas lifted his head from the table impossibly gently, like he was handling a newborn kitten. Alex’s brows twitched down because… in no world did he believe that Jefferson could be as gentle as he could be cruel. Odd. 

Thomas tucked the towel under his head and lowered him back down with the same uncanny consideration before slipping his hand out from under Alex’s head. The boy gazed up at him, still in a bit of an adrenaline-induced trance. 

“You’re going to watch yourself this time.” Thomas explained the propped head position while he lifted the gag from the table with a ‘chink’ of metal sliding across metal. 

“Open. Hey, open.” he raised his voice a notch when Alex cringed and turned his head away just a bit like he was trying to flick off a fly. 

“I fucking hate that.” he complained weakly, and Thomas had none of it. 

“Did I ask you? No. Now shut up and open your mouth.” he growled, digging his thumbs professionally past the corners of his lips while his other fingers pressed up under his jaw, forcing him to open. He slid the bit in over his tongue as he squeezed his eyes shut and made a noise halfway between a groan and a whine. 

“Oh, shut up.” he gave Alex a face as he fastened the buckle quickly behind his head and let it fall back down. The man straightened his suit cuffs as he rolled his shoulders back to standing. 

“You weren’t such a bitch about gagging this afternoon, fuckslut.” he scoffed, strolling past the table over to his cabinets. Alex would have responded, but good thing Thomas had anticipated that. 

“And since you’re gagged, you will cross the index and middle finger on both hands if you need me to stop. I will be keeping an eye on that, understand?” he looked over his shoulder, mask shielding his face to see Alex nod. 

Without another word, the dom turned darkly back to the cabinet and glided it open to select three specific items that he had in mind. Alex just waited and laid stretched out and exposed on the surgical table, heart thudding in his chest. It had hardly even slowed down since the beating, and the sting on his ruined thighs had not been assuaged. He didn’t know why, probably the fact that the whip had several tails, but they almost  _ burned  _ in sync with his pulse, singeing up his leg. 

His thoughts came to a halt as Thomas reapproached and daintily set down items onto the table one by one, but never without letting Alex get a good look at them. The first he held up was a bottle of lube. Alex’s heart skipped a beat, and Thomas shook his head slowly with a dark, shaded glance.    
“Don’t get yourself excited.” he rumbled, elegantly placing it on the metal, in no rush whatsoever, “I’m not fucking you. These are matters that require my full concentration and composure. But... I’m giving you this to sit on.” Thomas held another toy down in front of him for Alex’s intelligent, hazel eyes to dart back and forth over. The boy observed, wheels turning rapidly as he looked back up to Thomas, who raised a dark eyebrow with a masked smirk. So first blowjob and first time using a plug all in one day? What a fucking treat. 

“Ah? So never taken a plug before?” Thomas cocked his head, eyes glistening with hunger, and Alex scowled, embarrassed at Thomas mocking his naive inexperience, “It’s a day for firsts, isn’t it slut?” he chuckled and set this one down on the table too. Alexander still stared at it, especially since it was almost more wide than it was even tall, designed for maximum stretch and minimum satisfaction. It was matte black, plain and classic, but obviously high in quality. Alex swallowed and squeezed his cheeks for a moment, wondering… would Thomas open him up fist, or…? 

“This.” he spoke, presenting something new to Alex, and this time, his lips fell open. Well, further than they were already forced apart by the cold metal in his mouth. Thomas held before him in his black gloved hand a vibrator wand. And if anyone thought this was the fake, plastic, battery-run piece of junk, they were clinically insane. Thomas grinned, glad for the mask’s convenience as he watched Alexander’s priceless reaction.    
“Is the O-Wand.” he finished his sentence with a blink, relishing in Alexander’s little chest rising and falling in excitement. Thomas twirled it once in his hand to let him see all of it. 

Alexander was beginning to sense a theme; the wand was matte black and curved slightly to fit well in the hand with well-blended buttons for settings on the handle. The sides were streaked with one vein of elegant gold each like this was the vibrator that had descended from the gods. Alex chewed on the bit, a sure sign that he was already fantasizing. His cock twitched, standing upright and hard as hell over the wet pooling of slick precum that had steadily accumulated on his belly, some dripping down his hip. 

“The most powerful vibrator on the market. Like so.” Thomas continued. He moved one thumb up to press a button and the rounded end of the wand blurred as it vibrated rapidly. Alex’s eyes widened in impressed shock. That thing was strangely quiet, but he could still hear the faint buzz. Thomas clicked it off with a sniff and set it down to the table with a thud, replacing it in his hand with the lube. 

“Spread your legs for me, pet.” he commanded, leaning back as he stuck his foot under the table and shuffled around a bit. Alex’s brows furrowed, confused, and Thomas gave him a dark look that explicily said, “You have precisely one second to spread your fucking legs. Now.” Alexander inhaled through his nose, sniffling a bit as he parted his knees and let them fall open--there was only so much spreading that he could do. He hissed in a sharp breath when the raw sides of his thighs grazed the arctic metal. Thomas huffed and there was an odd sort of hissing noise like a bike pump. 

Alexander’s head fell to the side, the first string of drool helplessly dripping from the corner of his mouth. Thomas was… sitting down now, in prime position to have full access to Alexander. He adjusted himself on this apparent seat, unbuttoning his devilish black suit jacket without casting so much as a glance at his sub. 

“Doctor’s habits, Alexander.” he released his suit flaps and pulled his gloves over his hands tighter, one at a time as he scooted up closer to the table on wheels. It must be a medical stool, Alexander thought with an icy splash of adrenaline. Something about that fact made him want to shiver.

The man upturned the bottle of lube and uncapped it to squeeze a glob of the viscous, clear substance onto two fingers. Alex just stared at him, unblinking, as his dom capped the bottle and put it aside while he cleared his throat and rubbed the lube over his hands, coating them evenly with a shiny sheen and a shlicking wet sound. Finally, he looked back up at Alexander. 

“I wouldn’t do this for you if you weren’t so tight. So what do you say?” he quizzed. Alex curled his fingers against his palms, struggling to comfort himself in the cold restraints. He made a sound that resembled “thank you”, tongue slipping around under the gag, and Thomas was satisfied, turning his attention back to Alex’s pelvic area. His raven eyes swept what he would be dealing with. 

He inhaled deeply and stroked one finger up the underside of Alex’s cock along the stiff ridge, starting at the very bottom and slicking it all the way up with a glistening trail of lube. 

“Hhh…” Alex exhaled, watching Thomas with his head settled up on top of the towel. He was more sensitive than he’d usually be, having sat so hard for so long, and even the tiniest touch was delicious. Especially when it felt like this--oddly smooth but still warm through the glove, and after such harsh treatment from the whip. When Thomas got to the head, he rubbed a thumb over it, toying the slit for a moment with the tip of his finger and slicking the precum over his skin. 

“What’s all this, Alexander?” he asked just to embarrass him, holding is cock down to his belly on the clear accumulation of liquid so he could rub two fingers down towards Alex’s entrance, taking his time. The boy opened his mouth around the bit, obviously living for the touch. 

“Filthy little slut. Making a fucking mess because daddy whipped you rough.” he smacked Alex’s inner thigh firmly and immediately kneeded it to hear him squeal, “You want daddy in your ass? Why should I?” he rubbed deeply up and down Alex’s tight ring of muscle, pressing and giving him pressure as he just massaged with cold, slick fingers. Alex wanted to say something, but he was efficiently muted; he could only watch Thomas toy with him. 

“You’re a naughty, spoiler-rotten piece of shit.” Thomas looked up at the sound of metal chains clinking together to see Alex shaking his head. Thomas raised an eyebrow.   
“Oh, you’re not?” he inquired, and Alex shook his head harder, hair falling beautifully around his face. Thomas snorted, feeling Alexander twitch under his two fingers.    
“I’ll see about that, you submissive little bitch.” he snarled, and finally pressed his fingers inside of Alexander.

“Ahh…” Alex groaned, squirming in his restraints. When Thomas moved inside of him, his legs twitched, and he clenched up.    
“You’re the tightest fucking twink, Alexander.” Thomas grumbled, expertly pressing in up to his knuckles and moving his fingertips to immediately find his prostate. He just set them there wiggling into position before he pressed. Alex immediately groaned like the two things were attached. 

“Mmm, right there, hm?” Thomas hummed, straight-faced as he bent his first knuckles to rub slowly and deeply over the spot, stroking just a bit too hard over the sensitive bunch of nerves.    
“ _ Ohh _ !” Alex released a full-out moan from between his lips, showing his vocal side as usual. Thomas rather liked his bottom being so noisy and whiny; it got him so much more hot than just listening to the sound of slicking lube and random grunts. Alex’s legs jerked again, trying to turn in, but Thomas pushed back out with a clothed elbow and a warning glare as he reached to the smaller table. 

Alex swallowed when Thomas brought the plug forward and held it in his hand that wasn’t inside of him. Thomas released his prostate to scissor his fingers methodically, obviously knowing what he was doing as he rotated and twisted them inside of him. Alex desperately wanted to find a way to slip out of those handcuffs and jerk himself off while Thomas fingered him, but with all the self control he contained, he refrained. He wanted to feel that vibrator on his aching, throbbing cock, and he wanted to feel Thomas being the one to do it: his fully clothed, professionally dressed dominant standing over him and disciplining him. Thomas only took ten more seconds to stretch him out, the room silent but for the sub’s heavy breathing and vulgar wet sounds before Thomas pulled out. 

“Mmm…” Alex whined poutily, toes curling as he keened a bit in loss.   
“Hey. Don’t give me that shit attitude.” Thomas scolded with a scalding glare up to his partner, lifting the plug from where he’d placed it and reaching for the lube another time.

“This is going to hurt.” Thomas spoke blandly, squirting a thick amount onto the tip of the plug and slathering it on so Alex could see his every action. When he had finished, he positioned the object in his hand so that it balanced on his fingers with his thumb ready to press on the flared backside. 

“Legs open…” Thomas mumbled, and Alex complied slowly, staring as Thomas wrapped a hand under Alexander’s leg, holding him firmly in place and pressed the tip to his entrance. Alex relaxed himself mentally as he knew to do. The kiss was cold with lube, but there was no hesitation before his dom pressed with his thumb and popped the tip in. 

“Holy shit.” Alex’s eyes snapped open at the feeling, and he expected a moment’s pause, but none was to be granted. His hole expanded gradually as Thomas continued the insertion, stretching him wider, wider. 

“ _ Mm! _ ” he squeezed his eyes shut, positive that there was no fucking way it could go further than it was by the time it was halfway in. Everything was stinging, a signature feeling that he was accustomed to, but this was pure intensity. He hissed breaths rapidly, chomping on the bit and knocking his teeth against the metal. 

“Oh, shut the fuck up, you pussy.” Thomas snarled, fully popping it into the tapered end. Alex squeaked pitifully, and then it was done for. For a few moments, Alex just breathed trying to cope with the odd, hard sensation of something so thick stuffed inside of him only a few inches and locked there in place. Thomas observed, quietly picking up the O-Wand while he spectated the response. Alex whimpered slightly, wiggling his ass and lower back on the table, just feeling it pressed against his walls, holding him stretched wide open. It still stung, but it was fucking with his head how he could feel so full and empty at the same time; perhaps this was Thomas’s intention. 

“How’s it feel, hm? So close to your sweet spot, but just not  _ there _ . So close…” Thomas shook his head in false sympathy, pressing his thumb on the base of the plug and just pushing rhythmically. Alex moaned softly, head falling back into the plush towel and he closed his eyes. Thomas’s mockery was getting him off  _ way  _ too fast. The man didn’t even have to try. He wasn’t watching when something kick-started and began to buzz until tickling oversensitivity  _ exploded  _ on his chest. 

“ _ AaaAA! _ ” he tore a yell, jerking violently against his restraints, trying to get away. Thomas had the rounded end of the wand just barely ghosting over his nipple, sending waves of odd pleasure surging through his chest. 

“Hm. Hm.  _ Hm! _ ” he pouted, jerking again on the third whimper when Thomas actually pressed down, letting him fully feel the vibration. 

“Like that? Want more?” Alex shook his head frantically, eyebrows turned up and pleading with whimpers, but Thomas just gave him a dark look and lifted his hand daintily, moving it to the other nipple and giving it its fair share of time. The man didn’t press, he just allowed the peaked skin and the very, very tip of the vibrator to brush, and it was  _ torture _ . 

“ _ AH-h-h-h! _ ” Alex shivered and moaned at the same time, creating a breathy sort of sound from his mouth, stuttering on it. Thomas held right there, not moving for a good fifteen seconds, dragging it out for as long as he pleased. Beside him, Alex’s cock started to seep a tiny bit again, desperate for some sort of attention, needing it urgently and quickly. Finally,  _ finally _ , Thomas lifted the pressure, and Alex stopped squirming. His chest, that he didn’t even know was arched off the table, relaxed all at once and flopped down with a smack of skin on metal. Exhaustion. 

“Hah… Hah… Hah…” he panted heavily, completely out of breath. Thomas had clicked off the wand to watch Alex try and come down. Quite frankly, he was astonished. 

“Good God, bitch, I’ve seen my fair share in my lifetime, and don’t think I’ve ever tortured nipples that sensitive. I hardly even touched you.” he spoke, casually, lifting his chin and ghosting over Alex’s closest nipple with just his finger in mild curiosity. Alexander shuddered and writhed, another decimating wave of tingling oversensitivity tearing through him, and Thomas lifted it away, intrigued.    
“Better for me, Alexander: I like watching you squirm.” there was laughter in his eyes as Alex never even opened his, still pursing his lips over the bit and trying to catch his breath from the odd sort of torture he never knew he would experience. He knew he was sensitive, but this was the first time he discovered exactly  _ how  _ sensitive he was. 

Thomas tilted his head a bit to observe Alexander’s pretty cock. He had a bit of an up-curver. Just a bit. In Thomas’s opinion, that was the prettiest kind, even if only by a few degrees. Alexander seemed to have basically all aspects to some sort of extreme. The nipple sensitivity was one thing, but Thomas daresay that he’d never seen this much precum come out of one person in his life either, especially not just from a whipping. And then there was the destructive intensity of his orgasms, his unabashed vocalization, his uncontrollable little crying habit that was beginning to become a motif, and put together with his bitchass attitude… Thomas was right where he wanted to be, and he had Alex exactly where he wanted him. 

“You…” Thomas began his statement as if he was beginning an introductory speech for the press, “are despicable. Look at you.” he shamed, lifting his cock into his palm, a string of precum catching on his finger. He tilted it so he could observe it all around, still getting acquainted with all of its aspects. Thomas rotated the vibrator in his other hand and clicked it, feeling it jump start to life and buzz. 

“I wonder, Alexander, where’s the sweet spot on your cock, hm?” he pressed the vibrator to his perineum briefly, just to let him know he was there, and Alex sighed deeply, eyes still closed blissfully, but his face squeezed up a bit at the sensation--his ass did too. Thomas looked back to his cock, trailing the vibrator up and over his balls to press deeply at the very base of the underside of his cock. Alex’s legs twitched, his breath beginning to deepen. Working a vibrator on a cock required a different sort of handling that Thomas was well familiar with--using two wands and stroking both sides of the shaft was another go-to for speedy results, but that was the opposite of what Thomas was looking for now. 

“I know you have one…” Thomas’s deep voice rumbled, determined to find Alex’s weakness; this was essential to him. Still holding Alexander’s cock upright in his gloved hand, he used it as a backboard when he ran the head of the vibrator up his shaft along the ridge. Alex’s abs immediately tensed and his hips curled in half an inch.

“Ohh, fuck.” he spat, uncurling his toes when Thomas finished the vibrator stroke and trailed it right back down the bottom of his shaft. Feeling this odd sort of vibrating pleasure on his cock at the same time as being plugged up was so exotically orgasmic that he was having a tough time wrapping his mind around it. Thomas slid his hand down to lightly hold the base between his thumb and three other fingers, loosely giving it tiny, rhythmic strokes as he lifted the vibrator, buzzing back up to the head. It was slippery from precum and glistening, perfect for Thomas to torture. 

“Bet your little thighs sting real bad right now, huh?” Thomas made conversation of his pain, his thighs had slowly been rising with welts that looked incredibly painful. Alex wanted to growl at him, but he kept himself quiet; the stimulation felt too good to just cast it away based on his pride. The vibrator buzzed up to his head, and Thomas looked Alex suddenly right in the eyes. They locked gazes and Thomas slowly, rhythmically twirled the vibrator head around Alex’s tip, his wrist’s movements impossibly smooth, impeccable. 

“ _ Ohh _ hh fuck.” Alex tried to speak through the obstruction in his mouth, brows turning up as Thomas swung his wrist down to press the wand up and trace the rim of his head. 

“Mmm!” Alex whimpered, quite literally chomping at the bit. 

“Close, are we?” Thomas mumbled curiously, rolling the vibration around under Alex’s head. And that’s what did it. The boy yelped, which turned directly into an unrestrained cry of pleasure, nearly a scream. 

“Ohh, there it is.” Thomas spoke over him, casting him another glance as he lifted his bottom hand to press Alex’s head between his glove and the vibrator, forcing him to take the pleasure in what was apparently his most sensitive spot: directly under the head. Alexander whimpered gutturally and slammed his knees down onto the table, fluttering them madly. He sputtered, dying to tell Thomas to jerk him too, dying to tell Thomas to press on the plug again and he’d get close. It was only three minutes in, but Thomas was touching him in all the right ways and if he was generous, Alexander could finish without much more dawdling. Thomas huffed an exhale, wheeling his chair just a bit closer and started moving his hand in an impossibly smooth, difficult maneuver. 

Alex’s head snapped back, slamming back down onto the towel and this time his eyes quite literally rolled back into his head. He never recalled that happening to him before. 

His dom was, as he had promised earlier, playing his body like a fiddle, rotating and cupping his gloved palm around the head while he pressed the vibrator under the head and rubbed it up and down with a little twisting motion. Alex opened his mouth, gaping, and choked for air around the metal, fighting to bring his eyes back down to earth while his entire abdomen ignited on fire with the vibration and the plug gently nudging against the edge of his sweet spot, stretching his walls. He tried to convulse a bit, abs contracting as out of fucking nowhere, he thought he was going to cum. 

“Mm! Mm!” he pursed his lips over the bit and strained to look up again, hair damp with sweat against his cheeks, sticking to them like it was humid. Thomas met his eyes in an instant with his black ones, slipping his hand down to delicately, almost lazily, stroke his shaft at the base. He saw Alexander whimpering like a bitch. 

“The fuck are you crying about?” Thomas spat, moving the vibrator up to revolve about his head once more with the lubrication of precum. Alex gave him _the look_ , and Thomas actually… rolled his eyes at him in the most demeaning way possible. 

“God, Allie, you’re not gonna fucking cum. Suck it the fuck up and act your age.” he shook his head in disgust, “Pathetic…” he spat under his breath, returning to Alexander’s cock like he had been interrupted inconveniently from his task. Thomas knew that whether Alexander cummed or not had nothing to do with Alexander. It was his decision and his alone, and he had his plans. 

The dom kept up his motions, picking up the speed. He knew how to start this, and oh, did he know how to finish it. Alexander gasped when Thomas grasped his cock firmly in his hand, palm and all--not just between his fingers--and started to give him long, firm strokes, bouncing up the skin on his shaft. With the vibrator, he flicked it over the tip rapidly with incredible dexterity. 

“Ahh!” Alexander cried out, jolting and tensing up. He wanted desperately to go into a sitting position, but obviously that wasn’t a fucking option. 

“Feels good, mm?” Thomas purred enticingly like a cheshire cat, luring Alex into his trap. The boy whimpered through his moans and  _ shivered _ on the table. Thomas moved his hand faster, twisting now on upstrokes. The sniper was completely done-for; after the foreplay and now this, he was finished. He felt the tingling of an orgasm threaten to tear him apart, felt the warmth in his belly... He was going to cum; God, he was going to fucking cum. Alexander’s hips hitched, and Thomas growled lethally. 

“Well. I’m not  _ fucking  _ here to make you feel good.” his tone darkened in an instant, eyes blackening with shadows, and all at once… 

“N-no! No!” Alex cried on different breaths, convulsing as Thomas completely let go of him, all of him. The dom watched his submissive positively  _ keen  _ at the loss, stuck in a state of complete disbelief, squeezing his eyes shut and gritting his teeth. He slammed his legs down on the table and pulled at his chains, muscles in his arms and veins on his neck popping with the strain as he just writhed. The tingling reverberated through him before painfully seeping away, dissolving into nothing, leaving him… empty. 

Thomas had just snatched him from the cusp of an orgasm.

And he was just…  _ watching _ . After a few silent, immobile moments of utter shock, Alex slowly met Thomas’s eyes. They flashed with a plethora of emotions, horrified disgust, fury, fear. Thomas read it all. The man hummed and nodded. 

“How did that feel, Alexander?” he inquired, placing his hand gently on the boy’s burning leg. Alex twitched, eyes darting to it. 

“To be so close,  _ itching  _ for it, and  _ just  _ not getting it. On the brink of your pleasure, your whole body ready and hot, and suddenly, you’re all horny and squirmy again. Must feel pretty bad.” Thomas ran his hand down to Alex’s knee and back, and the friction was agonizing. The boy snarled, jerking his legs and trying desperately to shake Thomas off. 

“Sit still. Do you want daddy to touch you again or not?” Thomas barked harshly, so raw that Alexander bit down on his gag and forced himself not to move, forced himself to be still as the leather rubbed up and down his raw thigh, hurting him like a son of a bitch. And Thomas didn’t stop when he saw that it was torture. He took thirty seconds to do just that until it was so painful it was almost numb; Alex rocking and squeezing his eyes shut with every stroke. 

He felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes, threatening to spring loose, and finally, Thomas released. With a gasp, Alexander let his muscles finally relax. Thomas had stopped and replaced his hand on his cock throbbing cock. There was a click followed by a buzz, and Alexander knew what was coming next. He wasn’t even sure that he was ready for it. 

“Are you going to cry, Alexander?” Thomas spoke, impossibly coolly, and Alexander hitched a gasp as the vibrator rubbed up and down his shaft rhythmically, a faster rhythm than before. 

“Yeah, you’re gonna fucking cry, aren’t you? Little pussy.” Thomas shamed him raw, pressing the vibrator under his head to jerk him again, not using his whole hand, but jerking at an even pace. The buzzing seemed to find a higher tone as Thomas pressed down with his thumb on a button, changing the mode to a higher setting. Alex’s head fell to the side, into his shoulder with a pure, screaming moan of pleasure. 

He fluttered his legs madly once again, jiggling them with the clacking of his ankle shackles against the surgical table, and Thomas stopped, lifting the vibrator from his cock just an inch. This time, he didn’t even click it off, just stayed there and watched Alexander’s member. The boy heaved a shudder and contracted on the table, knocking his knees together with a ringing smack of skin on skin. Just cock jumped at the movement, twitching as yet another bead of precum spurted out, most likely the last he could physically offer. He whined something in a high pitched tone that resembled “Thomas!”. 

“You know why I’m hurting you?” Thomas inquired with his deep, rumbling voice through the mask, “because you’re a despicable, arrogant, egotistical little whore. You need to learn your place as nothing but a fucking hole. You need to learn to keep your fucking legs shut around that French fuck,” Thomas spat, lowering the vibrator to his head, just barely letting him have this feather-light, tickling vibration as he kneaded his balls roughly,  “and keep your mouth shut everywhere else. I’m sick and tired of your  _ insufferable  _ attitude. It. Is.” He clipped between clenched teeth, watching Alexander hitch, and hitch, and hitch until he was basically trying to tear out of his binds, “ _ unacceptable.”  _ he spat through gritted teeth, jaw clenched as Alex hitched one last time with a wail, and Thomas released him, bereaving him of pleasure in the cruelest, most heartless way possible. 

Alexander shuddered and caterwauled, basically spasming. His cock was blushing wine red, swollen and leaking madly with desperation, and Thomas had no qualms as it trembled on his vibrating belly. Alex gasped in high pitched breaths, panicking with how bad he needed it from the driver, with how he had been deprived on the edge of an orgasm twice now. Thomas placed his hand down on Alex’s belly, his cock between his thumb and forefinger and he reeled back six inches to  _ slap  _ the kid’s dick. 

Alexander’s entire body jerked and he screamed for real this time, pressing his skull so hard to the towel that his neck lanced with pain; he saw white. Thomas’s smack was flat-palmed and followed through neatly; he obviously knew how to do this properly and wasn’t taking whacks just for shits. 

“Yeah? You had enough yet? You want some more?” Thomas snarled loudly, raising his voice over Alex’s noise and watching Alexander desperately shake his head, whimpering and trying to say ‘no’, but Thomas checked his hands and his fingers weren’t near being crossed. The man just curled a lip and snarled at him, pulling back to slap his cock again with a dull ‘thwap!’, watching it bounce back into position. Alex roared again, and squealed a high-pitched sob. 

“Oh, for  _ fuck’s  _ sake.” Thomas spat exasperatedly, voice still raised to nearly a yell as he took the aching, stinging cock in his hand and pumped, loosely twisting so he hardly felt any friction, and pressed the vibrator to his slit, slowly trailing down over it. 

“Ah! Mm! Mm!” Alexander warned, and Thomas scoffed, “Stop crying or I’ll give you something real to cry about.” Thomas humiliated him with a classic, watching for his hips to hitch, his toes to curl before he lifted his hands a third time, leaving Alex to throb and weep in utter emptiness, in burning, searing, aching deprivation. Thomas turned off the vibrator to leave the room in clearer silence. Alex buried his face in his shoulder and smudged it with salty tears once again. His sobs were heavy and body-wracking, shaking his entire petite frame with every one. Thomas watched his ribs shudder as he cried, his legs slowly squirming around as much as they could. 

“This is what happens to bad boys. This is what happens when you think it’s  _ funny _ to mess around with me. When you think that there won’t be consequences for testing my authority over you.” he lectured, “Don’t look so fucking cocky now, do you?” Thomas watched his body shake and quiver, groaning long, high-pitched sobs into his arm. The defeat was imminent. Thomas’s eyes darkened, well aware of what he was about to do as he quietly placed the wet vibrator down on the side table with a thump. He wouldn’t be needing it anymore. 

“Don’t look so dangerous to me, Alexander.” he spoke coolly, voice lowered back down to his usual calm as he placed his hand on the quivering base of Alex’s cock.    
“Not at all. Don’t look like such a hotshot now, let me tell you that.” he scoffed quietly, feeling Alex try to close his knees over Thomas’s arm when he started to stroke, but the man pushed them back open without a word about it, “You know what you look like right now? Do you?” Thomas inquired, listening to the boy’s breath speed up. The dom shook his head darkly, stroking Alexander so fast and so loose that it was unbearable for the sniper to handle. Thomas curled his lip. 

“You look like a pitiful little teenager. Because that’s exactly what you are.” Thomas degraded and belittled him as the boy started to whimper shrilly, little high notes as he clenched his hands into fists with white knuckles. Thomas knew he was getting close; he could read his body like a picture book. With his other hand, Thomas reached around his red-skinned leg to find the black base of the plug and push, giving him a rhythm as he stroked. 

“You were a disgrace today, Alexander.” Thomas whispered this time, his voice so lethally quiet that it was  _ deadly _ . Alex felt himself being swept along by Thomas, brought right back up to the top again with the telltale tingling. He felt his orgasm begin to rise, the wave welling up deep inside of him, hot and bated and ready. He huffed, panting like he’d run eight miles without a break for water. Sweat beaded on his forehead and neck, slicking his skin and his hair. He was a trainwreck, and Thomas had made him this way. His raven-haired dom peeked over at him, and twitched his lip wrathfully as he pulled the plug out, leaving Alex gaping. 

“ _ Augh! _ ” The boy cried, but Thomas increased his grip on Alex’s cock, rubbing under the head with a thumb until his legs were vibrating again, warning him that it was about to happen. His legs hitched. Alexander wanted to scream it, “ _ I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum, oh GOD,  _ **_fuck_ ** _ I’m gonna-gonna…”  _ but he could only throw back his head and release a moaning shriek, slamming his knees down to the metal with a bang as he started to cum. 

And Thomas lifted his hand. 

For a moment, Alex didn’t have a clue what was going on. 

He whimpered shrilly between a couple of throaty screams, trying to fully orgasm, but something was… missing? He squirmed his legs, chains clinking and clanking as he felt the warm wetness of cum spill out of him, but there was no…  _ velocity _ . There was no fucking climax. His back didn’t arch, his body didn’t convulse into spasms and shivers or devastating pleasure. Another slow spurt seeped out, and another. But it was all the same. When the searing hot liquid substance slowly… slowly dripped out of his head and dribbled own his shaft, that’s when he started to panic. 

He snarled like a rabid animal and wrenched against the chains like if he got free quick enough, he could jerk himself to completion. This couldn’t be happening, not after all the waiting, all of the patient delay, all of the precum and teasing and torture. Thomas wouldn’t dare. But the more he writhed and screamed in frustration, the more spit frothed against the bit as he sobbed and threw a childlike tantrum, arching his chest off the table, the more he realized that yes, Thomas had just done that. 

Thomas had completely ruined his orgasm. On purpose. 

And as Alexander fought through the final torture, exhausting himself, he faintly realized that Thomas was now standing, looming at the foot of the table. He had a knuckle to his mask, the other arm crossed across his chest as he just stood there, darkness in his eyes, and watched Alexander cry and suffer. Silently. 

Alex sniffled wetly, messily, as he could do nothing but watch the useless,  _ useless _ , wasted cum seep down the side of his shaft, rolling down slowly, gluelike, and warm to the base. It seemed that they were both watching the same exact thing with two completely opposite emotions surrounding it. Thomas slowly brought his hand down from his mask and crossed both arms over his chest.

With a sinister gloved finger, he just tapped… tapped… Waited for the moment he had been anticipating for ages. Alex looked up at him weakly, his whole body twitching at random intervals as he struggled to blink his eyes open. They  _ streamed  _ with an unstoppable flow of tears, running down his wet face to splatter onto his sweaty neck. The look in his eyes was so humiliated, angry, and helpless. Thomas kept slowly tapping that finger on his arm.

“What is your purpose, Alexander?” he whispered, unblinking as he stared over at Alex, darkness spilling from his gaze. For a few moments, he didn’t answer. There was only the quiet noise of his heavy breath. And then something in Alexander’s hazel eyes shifted.    
“To please you… sir.” he managed around the bit; it wasn’t easy to understand, but Thomas knew what he was saying. The man didn’t blink and kept rapping his finger.    
“What do you say for getting to cum?” Alex’s eyebrows turned up pitifully, two more tears pearling and falling like diamonds from his eyes. It was priceless.

“Thank you.”    
“And what for your punishment?”    
“Thank you for my punishment, sir. Thank you…” Finally, Thomas blinked with a slow nod, allowing the eye contact to fall off. 

“Good boy.” he breathed. Thomas gave a few moments of silence, of stillness for his sub to wrap his head around his words, let them sink in. But he didn’t want to wait too long before he moved along to aftercare, so he counted to ten in his head, and spoke once more. Taking the lead for Alexander was still drifting in subspace. 

“Here’s what we’re going to do.” His voice was even and cool, yet firm, “I am going to bring you to the couch, and you are going to drink a full glass of water and wait for me. I’m getting undressed and putting everything back in place, alright? Should take five minutes, no longer.” The man stepped forward to his sub and stopped when he had come up to his right side with a shuffle of fabric. 

Alex’s watery eyes gazed up at him, staring at an undefined place on his black tie as he unbuckled the gag bit and pulled it carefully from his mouth, conscious not to knock against any teeth. It was soaked and dripping, and Thomas just set it to the side table with a quiet clatter next to the vibrator, the plug, his Cat whip and his crop, all of which would be sanitized properly. Alexander was vaguely aware of what was going on, his head falling to the side when Thomas carefully released it and did his rounds to unchain Alex’s shackles. The boy rocked back and forth by Thomas’s hand while he unbuckled the binds around his torso, but he was still drifting, still completely drained and exhausted. 

He’d never felt like this: helpless, beaten down, and  _ content _ all at the same time. Nevertheless, as Thomas lifted the towel from under his head and cleaned the wasted cum off his cock in gentle strokes, the tears wouldn’t stop flowing. He wasn’t sobbing anymore, wasn’t wracking, but they just streamed down his face for no reason. 

Thomas stood above him quietly and removed his black gloves, folding them neatly over one another on the table. He reached up behind his own head to unclasp his mask, and this he was extremely careful with as he placed it down. 

“Arms around my neck.” he rumbled, bending over with a shuffling of fabric and an inhale, and Alex felt fingers wiggle up under his thighs and around his back. Thomas grunted a huff as he lifted Alex from the table and the boy weakly complied, not helping much as he clasped his hands around the back of Thomas’s collar and the man bounced him once to get him into good position for carrying. He was light, perhaps about one hundred thirty-five pounds. And a tiny whine broke out in his chest when his leg brushed against the fabric on Thomas's suit. It twitched involuntarily. 

“Relax, it’s fine.” Thomas reassured firmly, “I have something for that.” and Alex was quite sure that he did, all those mysterious bottles of ointments and oils up in his cabinets. Thomas’s hips shifted under him as the man walked across the room and pushed the door open with his back, but the boy just buried his face inside of Thomas’s jacket on his shirt, smearing it with wet spots of tears and, yes, saliva. For the moment, the man didn’t mind.

“Up here.” he grunted, stroking Alex’s side with gentle fingers so he would look up. His face was a disaster, but there was no doubt that this kid should need a license for being this pretty. Thomas tried not to, but he couldn’t help that moment of eye contact between each other… It was odd. Looking in the eye she despised and having the urge to just… 

Thomas lowered his face down to Alex’s and as soon as they touched, it was like searing, rushing, icy electricity between their lips. Thomas felt Alexander’s bottom one tremble, and he closed on it, stilling it. The man inhaled through his nose as he strolled past the kitchen and slowly nudged and nuzzled into Alex’s mouth, tasting the faint tang of metal as he slowly worked his tongue in, spinning slow circles around Alex’s. Thomas’s, as usual, tasted of mint, but not overpowering like a mouthful of toothpaste. 

The man closed on Alex’s lips, and the boy copied him, concluding in wet unison of saliva and tears. Thomas lowered him, letting him slip down his arms to the living room couch in a sideways position, but Alex huffed and sat back up, quietly swiping a forearm over his soaked face. 

“Stay here.” Thomas grunted, striding smoothly around the island into the kitchen to lift down a glass cup from a high cabinet. Alexander knew that Thomas was keeping an eye on him as he pulled down the blanket from the back of the couch, yanking it a bit. Thomas closed the cabinet and cast a glance over his shoulder on the way to the fridge. 

“That’s gonna hurt your legs.” he advised, the hissing of a water stream filling up the glass. Alexander ignored him. 

“Shoulders.” he grunted vaguely, wrapping it around his upper body instead, avoiding his destroyed thighs that he gingerly lifted onto the couch in criss cross position. 

“Suit yourself.” Thomas responded, clicking across the floor over to Alex and weaving around the opposite chair and coffee table to hand him the water glass and give him an authoritative glance.

“All gone by the time I’m back. Five minutes, alright?” The kid curled his fingers around the water and rested it against his smooth belly, still completely naked save the blanket. Alex didn’t respond but to sniff and run the back of his hand over his nose briefly. Fine by Thomas. Alex watched his back, that tailor-fitted suit so perfectly around his six-foot-five frame as he strolled back into the bedroom and clicked the door shut behind him. 

Suddenly… It was very,  _ very  _ quiet in there. Very still. 

Alex shuffled his legs up on the couch, scooting a bit so his back was against the cushion. He glanced around, noting the city skyline out the towering windows, and saw that it was drizzling, just misting out there. By the amount of daylight, he could tell that it was around three or four in the late afternoon, the evening coming on soon. This day had gone, in a way, exactly how he expected, now that he thought about it; however, it felt so strange. And perhaps not in a bad way? 

Alex sniffed, not accustomed to not understanding his own mind, and lifted the cool glass to his lips to take a sip of water or two. He blinked out a couple of more tears, literally feeling his body gradually descending from subspace as he drank the cool liquid and calmed himself, all of the testosterone and adrenaline still sitting in his system. The boy glanced around the empty apartment, wishing for his phone right now. Who knew what kind of emails he was getting from Washington, God, he didn’t even want to think about the shit they were knee-deep in now. 

That was going to be an unpleasant meeting, and on the other hand, the sniper couldn’t literally give a single fuck. He shrugged the blanket on his shoulders with a sniff, shuffling. He would talk his way around Washington’s reasoning and implement his own. He could charm his way through. Yet, the big fucking manure-pile of an issue still remained, John Adams. And whatever article was going to come out of this, falling into the hands of every bureau member. 

Alex shook his head to clear his thoughts and sipped some more water, focusing instead on his body as he drank. Thomas had truly done a number on his legs, he understood as he tilted them just a tiny degree to get the full image. The entire thigh, including the delicate inner skin, was lashed and bruised with crossing little lines, and between them, the skin was red and irritated. There were purple and scarlet bruises splotched on both knees, yes, but his ankles were wreathed as well as his wrists from the shackles. 

Seeing the markings on himself… Alex’s lips twitched, wanting to gingerly reach out and touch them with still-trembling hands, but the sound of a door clicking open interrupted him. Thomas stepped out, barefoot, wearing nothing but a white T-shirt and black Balenciaga sweatpants with a white stripe up each side. His hair was neatly combed, as usual, and he looked overall delicious. Alex blinked through his wet lashes, and a couple more tears pooled at his chin and dripped onto the blanket. He wasn’t gushing anymore, just the last dribble was coming out. He was quite the cryer, he was coming to find. 

Something… odd happened when Thomas stepped out in front of him. Something uncomfortable and queasy shifted in his gut. Alex licked his lips and looked up at him, shifting his weight on the couch, because very suddenly--and quite strongly--he needed Thomas to come hold him. Chemicals, he reminded himself. It was the hint of subdrop that had his mind all out of whack, he inferred. Sniffled. 

“Hi.” Alex snuffled muffledly around his blanket-draped arm, lifting it to wipe his chin.    
“Hello.” Thomas responded, padding across the hardwood floor over to him, “Why aren’t you drinking?”   
“I am.” Alex furrowed his brows, pulling the glass closer to himself defensively. Thomas’s dark eyes darted from him to the glass. 

“Finish up, I don’t want you to spill that in my bed.” Alex blinked behind dark, wet lashes, surprised. He’d thought that Thomas would give him reluctant aftercare out here on the couch, not take him back to his bedroom. Well, he guessed that it made sense after all. That’s where the bathroom and the cabinets were, but…

Alex just swallowed down the rest of the water and leaned forward with a huff, exaggeratedly showing Thomas how it was empty when he let it clink down on the table, glass on glass. He sat back with a sigh.    
“Happy?”   
“Satisfied.” Thomas responded, bending down over Alex. The boy could smell his freshly applied cologne, a scent he was growing rather used to. Thomas placed a hand on either side of Alex’s head behind the couch, chilling out there and looking down right into his eyes. Alex didn’t look away, all he could see was Thomas flooding his senses.

“You have designer sweatpants from every brand?” Alex inquired with a soft smile. Thomas looked down on himself, with a frown, “Not a Gucci. I hate that shit.” he admitted, stepping so he was right up to the couch and curled both hands under Alexander’s ass. The boy laughed lightly with a wet, tearful sniffle and raised his eyebrows in surprise. 

“Wow, Thomas, going straight for the cheeks.” he chuckled shakily, and Thomas shot a look to the ceiling in annoyance.   
“I’m not feeling you up, bony-ass.” Thomas’s muscles popped, large hands warm under Alex’s ass as he lifted him up off the couch and bounced him into his grasp, Alex knew to wrap his legs around Thomas’s waist and he did, rather liking the feel of soft fabric against his bare cock, warm from Thomas’s body. 

“Bony?” Alexander wrapped his arms behind Thomas’s neck and hooked his chin over his shoulder, his throat bouncing slightly as Thomas walked. 

“Bone bag.” Thomas confirmed, “It’s like fucking farm equipment.” 

“Then I guess someone’s got a tractor fetish.” Alex shrugged, hooking his ankles together as Thomas turned into the bedroom. He wanted to lift his head and look around, but he just felt so  _ heavy _ . Like he had on ankle weights. And arm and shoulder and torso weights. Thomas chuckled as if he'd just remembered something.    
“You’ve got this dimple on your left ass cheek. Fucking gold.” 

“Ah, you noticed.” Alex snickered, hiding the fact that it was one of his only insecurities; that was something he wouldn’t even admit to himself. 

“I did. A pleasant surprise”   
“Oh?” Alex inquired, curious as he raised a brow. Something in his chest warmed a bit, and he immediately shoved it away. He couldn’t stifle a yawn right next to Thomas’s ear. 

“Sleepy?” Thomas questioned and rubbed a hand up and down Alexander’s smooth back, coming up the side of the bed. The touch sent waves of pleasure ringing through his body, and he almost sighed before stopping himself. 

“Nah.” he sat up to look at Thomas, but the man was already lowering him down to the bed, bending over to do it with expert precision and gentleness. Alexander sank into the white comforter, head on a memory foam pillow and he could orgasm again. The sheer comparison of bed to metal table was astronomical, and now Thomas could absolutely tell that he was getting drowsy, his eyelids heavy and his breathing shallow. The man stood above him and looked down like a tower. 

“Allie. You can’t do this.” he shook his head, firm in his tone. Alex blinked, brows swooping down. 

“I’m....” he looked around, “breathing. That alright with you?” he scoffed, voice still weaker than he’d like it to be around this man. 

“No. This.” he gestured at him up and down before he turned away, padding over to the cabinet and pulling it ajar. 

“I know you don’t do affection, kid, but you’re going to have to if you don’t want to feel like a steaming pile of shit.” he cast him a quick glance, reaching up and exposing a bit of his muscular side as he pulled down a bottle from up there. Alexander watched him silently, following his movements with auburn eyes. 

“You want to sigh, you sigh. You want to close your eyes, do it. Or this won’t do jack shit; I’m telling you right now.” Thomas commanded, giving Alexander a glance of raven eyes as he passed the foot of the bed, tossing a bottle lightly onto it. 

“Be right back.” he sniffed, crossing the room and disappearing into the bathroom. Alexander was left in silence again as Thomas shuffled around for a few moments. Alex weighed his options right then and there, because he was smart enough to know this was his last chance to do so. 

Thomas had just said exactly what Laurens had said the night before; he had to do the aftercare--he had to do it right. Thomas didn’t know that he’d experienced subdrop, but he didn’t need to know that either. But that sort of heavy feeling was the last the sniper wanted to feel ever again. As Thomas reemerged, Alex had the same strange urges, strong and almost instinctual to get physically close to him, and Alex wished he could just fucking shoot that weird emotion right in the goddamn mouth. Thomas carried a white hand towel and something else, a piece of clothing perhaps?

“‘S that?” Alex slurred lazily, bringing up an arm to rub his damp eye with a knuckle. Thomas swung his knee up onto the bed and pulled himself on, bouncing Alex a bit.

“Your…” Thomas set down the towel next to the bottle, unfolded what he had, and grinned, looking at it “thousand dollar panties.” They weren’t panties--they were boxer briefs--but Alex was tickled by the statement. His lips split into a smirk and he dipped his head cunningly, “To hold a thousand dollar dick, driver-boy.”

“Oh really.” Thomas huffed at him, walking over on his knees, pressing indents into the comforter as he got close to his partner. Alex tossed his hair and placed his hands behind his head.    
“Mhm.” he grinned like a great, proud lion, “Seven inches and counting.”   
“Mm and he’s humble too.” Thomas mumbled sarcastically under his breath, flicking his eyebrows up and, gently lifting Alexander’s ankle above the bruises to feet his foot through. Alex wiggled his foot in, and then the other. 

“What was that?”   
“What was what?” Thomas cast him a quick glance, teasing him on purpose as he worked the waistband up to his knees. Alex parted his lips in a disbelieving smirk, understanding that he was fucking around with him now. 

“You said something, dickface.”   
“Dunno what you’re talking about.” Thomas shrugged, and Alexander grinned and shook his head with a quiet chuckle. 

“Asshole.”   
“Jackoff.” They both mumbled under their breath, pretending the other couldn’t absolutely hear what he was saying. And for a moment Thomas smiled a real smile. He pursed his lips with a tiny cough, playing it off. 

“Gah...!” Alex cringed before hissing in a sharp breath between his teeth. His legs jerked, and Thomas looked up at him. The kid was staring at the boxers, his fingers clenching against the comforter. 

“Alex. Breathe. It’s gonna hurt for ten seconds.” The man returned back to his task: getting the briefs over his thighs. Alexander inhaled deeply, blinking down and watching Thomas’s tanned fingers working professionally, inching them halfway. 

“No, no, no, okay, just wait.” Alex spoke all in one breath, and his hand darted out and clapped on Thomas’s wrist, clamping down on it with his nails. The boy shook his head, mane rustling as he puffed for breath. Thomas shook his head as well, drowning him out with his voice. 

“Allie, stop it, you gotta get this over-with, alright. Suck it up.” Thomas grumbled a bit harsher this time, letting Alex hold onto him for reassurance as he pulled the waistband up and over his thighs. The kid growled deep in his throat, groaning dully when the fabric was finally over. There was some that still settled where the top of his legs had been whipped, but at least it wasn’t rubbing or moving. 

“Up.” Thomas commanded, and Alex bounced a couple of times on the mattress for Thomas to yank the waistband over his ass and settle it on his hips with a pat. The hits from the riding crop had faded, but from the Cat O’ Nine Tails, not in the slightest. Thomas gave his hips a gentle squeeze.    
“Didn’t know Gucci made underwear.” he breathed conversationally, letting go of the tiny hips with the waistband that almost looked like two, one band of green and one of red. Alexander shrugged.    
“You know me. I like everything in Gucci.” Thomas had leaned back to kneel on his heels and twist around, and grab one of the aftercare items he’d chosen. Alex kept talking, 

“I’ve found green’s my color. For formal wear. Red for lingerie.” he joked, knowing full well that he’d take red or green for formalwear but he’d only take black leather for… informal affairs.   
“Alright, Mrs. Claus.” Thomas grumbled, chuckling breathily as he brought forward the clear bottle and the towel, walking forward on his knees again. Alex looked up at him towering town, his abs visible through the thin white cloth. The driver sat back against the middle of the bed, leaning on the dramatic headboard with a pillow behind his back. He sighed after a moment and looked at Alex. 

“Should I compose you a fucking formal invitation?” Thomas shook his head, and Alex looked around, confused. The driver inhaled for a heavy sigh but moved instead, shifting his weight to lean over and dig his hand under Alex’s arms from behind. 

“I mean, if you want.” Alex laughed, wincing a bit as he scooted over to sit between Thomas’s legs like they were going to share gossip and do each other's hair at a girls' sleepover. Alex felt his dom open his legs a bit for Alex to settle there between them, shuffling on the comforter and making sure the pillow was in place for him. Thomas would be his pillow as he pulled Alex closer, right up against him to his chest by his armpits. Alex leaned back into him, spreading his legs in front with laughter in his eyes at the astronomical disparity in leg span.

Thomas was warm to lean against. Firm but not uncomfortably so. Alexander decided curtly that he would enjoy it indeed, and scooted his but right up into Thomas and pressed his back against him. The hands that were up under Alex’s arms slid down on an inhale from his partner close to his ear. 

“How you feeling, baby boy?” his voice was deep as hell and rumbled nicely against Alex’s back. Remembering what he had decided, Alex shivered and felt Thomas smile against his ear, lips just barely brushing them. 

“Like a million fucking bucks.” Alexander felt Thomas chuckle at the sarcastic irony and slowly glide his warm, large hands down Alex’s ribcage, allowing his fingers to dip up and down around his ribs with expert care. As he did so, Thomas nudged his face up to Alex’s and… the boy stiffened. Thomas had kissed him on the cheekbone with impossible tenderness. The dom sensed the tension from the sniper and rolled his eyes. 

“Relax, I’m not hitting on you.” he mumbled, moving up to place another feather-light kiss on Alex’s temple after lifting a hand to brush the hair back from it, tucking it behind his ear gently. 

“This is gonna help; I know what I’m doing.” he ran the other hand up Alex’s belly with his fingertips, dipping briefly into his navel before trailing up the middle of his chest, touching him lightly. Alex’s lips searched a moment for words and then closed. He… didn’t know what he’d expected from this; it seemed obvious that there would be the kind of tenderness that both of these men hissed at like alley cats, but Thomas’s behavior was unexpected. This kind of… impossible carefulness like Alex was a thin pane of glass or a petal that he could bend or break at any moment. He’d never been touched in this way. Not by anyone except…

“Have any questions? Talk to me.”   
“You don’t want to talk to me, Thomas.” Alex laughed, trying desperately to shake off the odd feeling in his stomach that was rising the deeper he leaned back into the man that hated him, feeling his body against his own, breathing, rising and falling, “I can read them. Your expressions, you can try but they don’t tell lies.” Thomas shrugged, wrapping an arm around Alex’s chest and lifting the hand towel from beside him. 

“True.” the man grunted, “I don’t.”   
“So you’re doing this pansy shit cause you have to.”

“Because you asked for it. And I’m going to. And so are you. You can’t get a raw beating and go back to your business, buddy; you don’t know how half this shit works, so just stop being a manipulative asshole for three seconds.” Thomas took the moment to put the foot down before chilling out, brushing Alex’s hair away from his face strand by strand, tucking it behind his ears.

“Lean your head back.” he pressed his cheek to Alex’s forehead, moving it down to rest on his shoulder as he pressed a deep kiss into Alexander’s mouth, surprising him a bit as his hands jumped to rest on Thomas’s upper thighs. The sniper only hesitated a moment before opening his mouth against Thomas’s, allowing him entry and exploring his tongue in turn while he kneaded the sweatpants’ warm fabric slowly. Their jaws open and closed in a lazy lull, Alex’s head at a bit of a turned angle to compensate for their parallel bodies, but resting against Thomas with no strain. Alex’s legs twitched when he felt something warm and damp touch his already-messy face. He made a tiny sound in his throat and moved as if to break apart, but Thomas mumbled softly into his mouth. 

“Chill your balls.” Alex exhaled, turning his head to get an even more sideways angle on their deep kissing. 

“Classy.” he mumbled back, shifting his hands up higher on Thomas’s thighs and tucking under them for warmth.    
“Watch it…” Thomas murmured and pressed the wet cloth to his face. Alex lethargically twirled his tongue around Thomas’s, opening his eyes to crane and see what the man was doing. The damp, soft fabric pressed against his cheek and dabbed in lively little strokes, rubbing off the salty tear streaks. Alex was used to kissing with his eyes open, so it didn’t bother him that Jefferson kept his closed and swiped the towel deeply under each eye, refolding it for a moment’s pause to swipe at his chin. Alex sensed that Thomas was going to break apart, and he closed his eyes, faking. 

“So, did you know you’re such a crybaby, or...?” Thomas inquired conversationally as he swept the warm cloth under his chin, lifting his head back over his shoulder to wipe down his throat in long strokes. This made Alex purr like a great, sunning cat, and even he couldn’t hold it back.    
“No.” he shrugged, tilting his neck to let Thomas get at a nice-feeling spot, “But I bet my ass most people cry when they’re being flogged by a six-five masked psycho. Or am I wrong?” he expertly flipped the question back on Thomas, who chuckled. The man cleaned his cheeks under his eyes again, so warm and slow. 

“Yes, but you cried at the resort, and you cried after our little arrangement, and you cried in the bathroom.”   
“That doesn’t count.”   
“Which one?”   
“The blowjob.” Alexander shook his head, looking up to Thomas above and behind him. The larger man stopped, setting the towel down to his sheets. Alex blinked.    
“That’s a first timer, you cock-noggin, aren’t you supposed to be a doctor?” he looked right up into Thomas’s sharp-featured face, only an inch away while he spoke to him, “The gag reflex triggers tears.”   
“Okay first of all,” Thomas sneered, wrapping both arms around Alexander, their bare skin pressing warmly together as Thomas bent his knees on the sheets, making Alex lift his hands, “I can’t believe you just called me a ‘cock...noggin’.” Thomas scoffed with an incredulous blink as he pulled with his feet, shimmying down so that he and Alex reclined against the sheets, laying down, “but I’d think before doing that again. Secondly, yes, I am a doctor, thank you very fucking much, and I’m more curious about the other two times.”

“What makes you think I know?” Alexander snapped back grumpily going down on Thomas like a recliner chair as he shuffled all the way to his back so that Alex was laying on top of him, tiny legs between his. It was a hilarious spectacle, Thomas’s bent, clothed knees towering outside of Alexander’s bare, borderline thin ones that didn’t peak nearly as tall. Alex let his head fall to the side on Thomas’s shoulder, looking at him, but his partner was reaching for the clear bottle and brought it over them, shaking it so the thick, globby liquid fell to the bottom with a click. Alexander rocked on Thomas’s body with the movement.    
“Can I get excited, or is that not lube?” Alex gave him a smug look, and Thomas glared over at him a bit too quickly. 

“Phhh!” he spat, sticking his tongue out and shaking his head to get Alex’s hair out of his mouth; the boy just blurted out a laugh while Thomas tossed his head a bit. “Thaaaaat’s fantastic.” Thomas blinked sharply and grumbled, running a hand down Alex’s head to pull his hair to one side while the latter read the label on the clear bottle with a cream cap. 

“Aloe Vera. The sunburn gel.” he spoke, unimpressed, “getting cheap, are we, driver-boy?”   
“Take it from the surgeon, bitch, Aloe is a miracle on earth.” he uncapped it over both of them and squeezed some onto his palm. It smelled sharp and fresh, the kind of substance that would instantly clear a stuffy nose if you got close to it. 

“Pull your legs up closer. Yeah.” Thomas grunted, shifting a bit on the pillow to get both of them comfortable, “I’m going to put the gel on your whiplashes. And you’re going to talk to me.”   
“Am I, now?”   
“Yes.” Thomas placed a hand up on Alex’s belly, petting it rhythmically to comfort him. The skin felt like vanilla cream, like silk, so warm and flat and soft. “You are.” 

Alex smiled coyly at the feeling of that large hand on his belly, his pretty lips curling into a smirk, and he wiggled just a tiny bit on top of Thomas. 

“What do you want to talk about?” he hummed pleasantly like a gossiping teen, reaching up his small bruised-wrist hand to run through Thomas’s black hair and leaning his lips close to his ear, “how you completely ruined the orgasm you’d been building up for an hour like the piece of shit you are?” 

“Waaatch it, Allie.” Thomas spoke, kindly, but there was a note of warning in there as well. He reached forward, not having an issue with his wingspan compared to Alexander’s height, and lathered the top of his lean thigh, slicking the cool substance over his red, stinging skin and moved his fingers in slow circles to rub in the ointment gradually. 

“I hate you for that. I really do.” Alex glanced up at him, and Thomas looked down, somehow still retaining a jawling at the awkward downwards angle.    
“You cummed. You’re fucking welcome.”   
“I did not.” Alex scoffed, offended as Thomas ran his cool fingertips lower, using the top half of his hand to spread the long-lasting fluid. He felt the boy’s foot twitch against his own at the chilliness and the sting, their toes touching a bit. He was handling it well, probably because he had a conversation to carry out. 

“I did not fucking cum. And you know it.” 

“You didn’t deserve to, and you know it. Not to mention that your kinky ass enjoys being deprived.” 

“So now you admit that wasn’t a goddamn orgasm. It was just fuckery.”    
“Of course it wasn’t an orgasm, bitch, the whole country knows when you do.” he laughed, giving in as he leaned over and applied more aloe to his hands and returned to position. Alexander scowled as Thomas worked at the top of his other thigh now, fingers slipping and sliding over his legs, touching him impeccably. 

“Making fun of my orgasms now, are you?” 

Thomas grinned to himself, rubbing gentle, slippery circles over his raw, damaged thigh.    
“I absolutely could. But I’ll refrain from destroying your will to live with roasts since I enjoy watching you scream like that. Makes me happy inside.”

“Oh really?” Alex cocked an eyebrow, lips parting in a smirk as he turned his head to Thomas’s face again. The man didn’t look at him, busy with his task, but his deep voice vibrated and hummed against Alex’s body once more. 

“What? You think I like primitive grunting and a little clenching? I’d rather--”   
“Shove a cell tower up your ass?” Alex guessed, cleverly sticking in a little reference to one of his previous badly timed antics. Thomas gave Alex a quick nip on the side of the neck right over his jugular. Alex yelped, wanting to squirm away, but he was just so  _ heavy _ . He hadn’t realized how laying on top of a human heating pad had affected his already occurring exhaustion, lulling him like a lazy summer afternoon napping in an eno. He could only smile wordlessly at the bite and pull his shoulder to his ear in a tiny cringe. 

“Yes. Silent submissives are a cock-softener unless I make them that way on purpose.” Thomas pressed a quick kiss to the bite mark he had just created, remembering that though playful, he had to play nice right now after such an intense session. Alex was hiding it well, but his tiny teenage body was on the verge of collapsing into an exhausted coma right there on top of him. Thomas would prompt him to ask more questions, keep the conversation about their session going as he knew was healthy, but this was Alexander Hamilton. He’d continue only if he believed he was leading, and so Thomas allowed it for the time being. 

“Well, Jefferson, I’m in the clear. The only time I’ve been silent today was when you’re nine inches down my gutter, so.”   
“Refer to your throat as your ‘gutter’ one more time, I dare you.” The man grumbled, glancing to the ceiling, “And how the hell did you know I’m nine inches?”    
“Ass intuition, baby.” Alex flashed him a white, arrogant smile that was hindered the slightest bit with his onsetting drowsiness. Thomas just laughed in wonder. 

“Okay.” he chuckled condescendingly, pumping some more Jell-O-like liquid onto his hands and this time rubbing it on them like sanitizer. Alex looked at his bent legs between Thomas’s, shiny, slightly sticky, and tried to deduct what Thomas was doing. All of the lashes were slathered except for his upper, inner thighs. 

Thomas inhaled, setting the bottle back down with a click of the cap. 

“Just relax; this is gonna sting a bit.” he advised, moving his own feet under Alex’s legs to bend them more and pull them up closer to his body, “Spread your legs.”   
“I know how to do that one.” Alex quoted Thomas’s words from earlier, smirking devilishly and placing his feet apart on the bed. Thomas hooking his first knuckle under Alex’s boxers and pulled rolled each leg down some to expose the worst of it. 

“Ah...” Alex’s voice wavered, and he twitched involuntarily, “Shit.”   
“Think of something else; this’ll be over quick.” Thomas reassured, carefully placing his thumbs on the delicate skin and smearing some on. Alex puffed his cheeks, holding his breath and slowly letting it out as Thomas moved. It felt like he’d ridden a jet ski for six hours with sand in his bathing suit (which had totally never happened to him before). 

“Alright, let’s go through some of Jefferson’s highlight quotes then, shall we?” he grimaced, but his eyes were full of clever mischief.    
“Great.” Thomas mumbled under his breath, working his fingertips inside of Alex’s thighs soft, sending twinges up his leg with every little movement. Alex cleared his throat and crossed his arms over his chest.    
“One. ‘Your only good purpose is being an easy hole to fuck’.” Alex ended on a high, contented sigh, and peeked up at Thomas, “Ironic considering how hard it was to get in bed with me.”   
“That’s bullshit, Alexander, you’re the desperate lowlife trying to get in  _ my  _ pants.” 

“Keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better--ssh!” he hissed when Thomas glazed over a particularly sensitive area and gently rubbed it in. 

“Oh, so sorry.” Thomas apologized unauthentically, and Alex grumbled something under his breath. 

“Oh, how about ‘do you sleep around with the whole bureau’? That was rather kind of you.”   
“Well. Glad you thought so.” Thomas mumbled, nudging up under Alex’s face to press his lips and nibble on his jawline. Alex felt the flat scrape of teeth on his skin followed by the warm wetness of a sucking pulse. He had no problem talking while Thomas lathered up his sensitive legs and bruised his jaw. 

“I’m curious, Thomas, who do you think I’ve slept with here?” he faced up to the cloudy ceiling with a smirk, ready to puppet Thomas into some trouble. The man didn’t answer for a minute, darkening the skin on his jaw and taking his sweet time. Finally, he concluded with a pop, his hot breath falling on the wet, sensitive patch of skin. 

“Laurens. Washington. Lafayette. Myself.” he answered readily, wiping his spit off Alex’s cheek with a thumb and observing his handiwork, “As far as the elite circle goes. Most likely an occasional sprinkle of interns and unimportant deadbeats.” Alexander hummed cunningly atop him, rather amused by this assessment. 

“That’s what you think of me?”    
“Far worse.”   
“And ah, speaking of--to quote you-- ‘that filthy French fuck’.” Thomas lifted his hands from the thighs and rubbed them up his clothed hips, drying them and touching Alex at the same time, “You want me to ask you questions, well I’ve got one for your ass. What’s your problem with Frenchie?”

“Again?” Thomas blinked, incredibly unimpressed and almost as exhausted as Alexander. He squeezed his hips and lifted the boy up in his strong grasp to set him down on the bed. Their sides pressed together as Alex shuffeld in the comforter, pulling over a pillow for himself. He didn’t mind some pillowtalk, not if he was in charge. 

“Mmm.” Alex hummed pleasantly, flashing Thomas a look as the older man turned onto his side, “Yes, again. You’re being awfully thorny around a man that’s your superior.”   
“In profession.”   
“Yeah, in profession. That’s my point.” Alex laughed, “I may be young, but I’m not stupid, Jefferson. How did you put it, ‘laying on my belly like a filthy skank with his dirty hands all over me like anyone's hooker’?” Alex pursed his lips in a condescending little smile that he knew was riling Thomas up just a bit, making him prickle, “come on now, tell me that doesn’t sound a little…” he twitched a pretty curvy brow across at Thomas, locking on those dark, stormy eyes,

“Jealous…?” he guessed raising both of them. Thomas shook his head slightly and dug his arm under Alex to hook on his hip bone and shift him onto his side, facing away from Thomas.   
“I’m not talking about that. So drop it.” His voice had rapidly darkened, dripping warning like black rivers of tar. There was a moment of silence.

The corner of Alex’s lips twitched involuntarily. 

Thomas was  _ not  _ joking. 

“Yes, sir.” he spoke quietly, dipping his head in respect of the dangerous tone of voice. He stared at the opposite wall, at the bathroom door and didn’t move as he carefully selected his next words, “I just thought you should  _ know _ .” he enunciated coolly, “that Lafayette and I had a little chat that you were not involved in.” 

Thomas’s fingertips twitched under Alex’s hips. For a moment, neither uttered another word until Thomas curled around his hip bones and pulled his pelvis back, reeling him in and shuffling him up against his own hips. Alex gritted his teeth at the slight friction on his legs, but he didn’t make a peep.    
“A… chat.” Thomas repeated, sliding his hand down from the top of his hip to cup around the front of Alex’s belly over the waistband. Alexander responded with utmost attentiveness to his words, his strong suit. 

“Yes. Just a little message he wanted me to pass along to you.” Thomas’s hand slowly rubbed up and down Alex’s belly as he inhaled and pressed his chest up against Alex’s bare back. The driver slipped the tip of his thumb under the Gucci boxer waistband and glided it before pulling it back out seamlessly with a tiny snap, just toying. 

“And what would that be?” 

Alex was glad Thomas wasn’t facing him as his lips pulled into a wicked grin, but his voice was in a juxtaposed tone, something impossible to achieve for most people. He could feel Thomas’s anticipation, feel it through his hands and on his body pressed against his own. 

“He told me to convey to you that he notices your behavior, Thomas.” Alex spoke, this time casting a golden glance of hazel eyes over his shoulder to spy Thomas’s own head very close to his own. The man blinked, his ebony eyes the only thing in sight, those sharp, dark brows. The two stared at each other as Alexander spoke. 

“He picked up on it real quick.” he gave his head a short shake, still locked on those eyes, “You don’t have to talk to me, Tommy. That’s okay.” he shrugged with a manipulative little coy smile, “but Frenchie wants you to know that if he must use physical means to… persuade you towards respect, he will.”

“Is that what he said.” Thomas stated with a monotone whisper, not even blinking. Alex hardly noticed that they’d drawn closer to each other’s faces, their gaze darting rapidly from eye to eye. He could feel Thomas’s fresh, minty breath on his face, feel the warmth radiating from him. The sniper nodded, getting exactly what he wanted. 

“Yeah.” Alex reached behind him quietly to place a hand on Thomas’s thigh, tracing the stitched Balenciaga logo. “Now,  _ I _ like danger, Thomas. Turns me on.” he averted his gaze to Thomas’s lips for a brief moment, enough for the dom to notice it. He did the same involuntarily. 

“But if I were you, I’d be very careful about my next move,” he warned, tracing back down the logo with his fingertip. Thomas looked at his lips again, licking his own with a darting, wet tip of his tongue. 

“And he his.” he responded, impossible to budge. The man was stubborn.

There was a tense moment of silence where the two just stared at each other. Alexander scanned Thomas’s face over and over again, searching for signs of weakness as the tension multiplied, rigid in the air. He could feel Thomas pressed against him… all of him. Being only in underwear, it was distinctly obvious that Thomas wasn’t wearing any himself. Alex was exhausted, there was no way he could survive a round two, not tonight. Didn’t mean he wasn’t still missing that stolen orgasm right about now.

Alex moved half an inch against Thomas and bit his lip the way he knew drove him crazy, and that was what shattered the tension like a bullet to a windowpane. 

“Fuck…” Thomas exhaled, shaking his head and moving his hand to cup Alexander’s throat, gently, calmly. He wasn’t going to start something; Alexander was too spent and young to go for another round. But if all he could satisfy was his mouth, that would be permissible. He curled his fingers through the back of Alex’s hair, carefully pulling him closer with a warm hand, tilting his head over his shoulder to lick into his mouth, past his lips with full control over his smaller partner. Alex let go of the lip he was biting, and it popped out right into Thomas’s mouth. The driver turned his head, finding the tip of Alex’s tongue with his teeth and coaxing it into his mouth with warm, wet strokes along the bottom. The boy exhaled, shifting on the comforter to get closer, and Thomas did the same. He wrapped his other arm firmer around Alexander’s belly, never getting enough of the feeling of his hands on it.

Their kissing was far from vanilla in itself. Regular angles were a thing of unimportance; sideways was perfectly fine--all they needed was access for their filthy dance of tongues and teeth. And it was in now way limited to opening and closing of lips; the raking of the roof of the mouth drew low moans from Alex, and the exploration of the inside of the cheeks was in no way off-limits. The only sound in the room was low, repetitive wet sounds as they kissed in a filthy, dirtily slow pace, saliva shlicking between them, but neither minded the vulgarity. 

Alexander was vaguely aware that he wasn’t bored, which was a rarity that... puzzled him. Making out had always been an exhaustive and chorelike task to him; he saw no point in it. Why would you lick at someone for minutes at a time; nothing could be read from it, no facial expressions or words to deduct; it was like watching paint dry. He often kissed with his eyes open, never understanding why it wasn’t natural…

Now he let the rhythm set in and his eyes fluttered closed, brushing Thomas’s face because, damn, they were long. Perhaps it was the rhythm that lulled him, or the warmth, but he slowly… slowly felt his mind drifting from his body. Thomas could feel it too, his breath slowing, his heartbeat calming. He was falling asleep, Thomas realized with an odd, pulling feeling in his gut. Alexander was falling asleep on him. 

Something about that set a red alarm off in his head like a siren. 

He concluded the kiss and lowered Alex’s head to the grey pillow with the hand that had been supporting him. His eyes remained close, his lips still wet and slightly parted. Thomas licked his own, still able to taste Alex on him. And he gradually slipped and yanked his arm out from under him until he was free. Alexander inhaled and… Thomas had already backed up, moving to sit up, when he realized that Alexander was half-mindedly searching for him. He froze. What… the hell. The boy’s brow furrowed and he closed his lips, trying to blink open his lead-heavy eyelids. 

“Thom's.” he slurred his name incorrectly, groggy-sounding. Thomas was frozen in place as Alexander turned his head back over his shoulder to look at him, sitting up on his knees, “Going somewhere?” he spoke, trying to clear up his voice to its usual tone. The driver swung his legs out of bed and placed his bare feet on the carpeted floor.    
“Get something to eat. Watch something.” he shrugged, pacing around the side of the bed, “You can sleep here, just get the hell out by ten.” 

Alex just laid there and watched Thomas straighten himself stiffly and stride towards the door. He blinked. 

All of a sudden his lips moved without the consent or consultation of his brain. 

“Bring something back. Eat in here.” the moment he’d said it, he wanted to clap a hand over his mouth. What. In the name. Of flying fuck. Thomas paused in the doorway, not turning his head around.    
“I don’t eat in bed.” he grumbled.   
“Well…” Alex effortfully flipped onto his back, propped up with his elbows and gestured a bit impatiently with his hands, “Make an exception; one time’s not the end of the world.” Thomas stood there for a few moments, not saying anything. Alex felt an uncomfortable tightness in his stomach when Thomas wasn’t responding. 

“Is this a joke, or do you actually need me to stay for longer?” he appeared to briefly rub a hand over his face. He didn’t want to stay, not with Alexander. But he had no choice if he needed more attention for aftercare; that was a given. Alexander opened his mouth to retort defensively, but Thomas interrupted him.

“I’m not in the fucking mood for your games, so if you want to be a manipulative little bastard, just get out.” 

“Damn, chill.” Alex made a face, sitting up a little more, “I’m hungry. You’re hungry. We’re both tired. We both want to watch Netflix. You’re warm, I’m cold.” he listed, “Just thought I’d use basic logic, but you do you, driver-boy.” he shrugged indifferently and leaned back in the pillows. Of course, he had constructed exactly the sentence that made Thomas feel just a notch inferior to Alexander. Of course he had. There were a few seconds of silence. 

Thomas reached in his sweatpants pocket and pulled out his phone, still not facing Alexander as he held it with one hand and tapped with a single thumb. Alex’s head turned when the three note tune sounded next to him, the classic signal that a telescreen was being projected. The light spread and wove to create a rectangular screen at the right side of the bed. 

“Hook your account up. Choose Fifty Shades and I’m kicking you out of my house. In your underwear.”    
“Fair.” Alexander agreed, a smile spreading on his face when Thomas disappeared from the doorway. He heard the fridge open and close somewhere out in the kitchen while he airplayed his phone and scrolled through John’s Netflix for an idea, and immediately settled on a personal favorite, Alice in Wonderland. His favorites list went on and on, but it didn’t feel like a Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory day, and the vibe wasn’t Coraline either. He hardly even heard Thomas enter before he spoke. 

“Heads up.” Alex reflexively looked and caught a slippery, cold cylinder in his hand, right in front of his face. Thomas rounded the bed, and Alex followed his movement with his head before looking at what was stinging his hand with frost.    
“Only a half pint?” Alexander chuckled, tossing it once in his palm, “Sorry, dude, but you can’t have any.”

“My decision. Doesn’t matter anyway, I don't want your canned heart disease.” Thomas put forth his authority, but held up his own ice cream for Alex to see. The boy immediately made a face as Thomas swung a knee into the bed and walked forth. 

“What kind of hippy-dippy bologna is that?” he curled his lip.

“Organic.” Thomas grumbled in turn like he really didn’t want to be there, grunting as he pulled the comforter up from under his legs and slipped under with Alex, who had done the same. 

“Gross…” Alex mumbled under his breath, eyes already back to the screen and controlling it with his phone. Thomas settled in, just gently brushing against Alex’s body under the thick covers. He propped up on his forearm and used the spoon to pry open the lid while Alex scooted his butt and back up against him. Thomas pursed his lips and briefly looked to the ceiling to keep composure. 

“Ever heard of the phrase ‘personal space’?” Thomas stopped prying to glower, already annoyed with his sniper. Alex clicked on Alice in Wonderland and watched the hover projection go black in preparation. He grinned devilishly, shuffled down comfortably in the sheets up against Thomas, and twisted open his own half-pint. 

“Indeed. I think it’s rather a dreadfully boring concept.” 

“I don’t care what you think. Get off me.” 

“Don’t even think about it.” Alex’s cool voice made Thomas hesitate; he was going to scoot back, but something in his tone stopped him. 

“I’m cold, and you’re a solid hundred degrees.” The moment passed like it had never happened, but Thomas was still drawn back to him hesitantly. He huffed and slowly pulled Alex’s hips back into his own, wrapping his arm around over the top of his side to hold his bare belly. Alex wiggled against him as the Disney theme started playing.

“I hate you.” Thomas grumbled vaguely, taking a moment to really just let it fill him up, “you sicken me.”   
“Hush.” Alex brushed it off as if those kinds of words had absolutely no affect on him, and that’s what was unsettling about the boy, and so  _ frustrating _ . Thomas didn’t listen to his command. 

“Don’t tell me to hush. And what the fuck is this; we’re watching a Disney movie?”   
“Alice in Wonderland. Now shut it.”   
“Allie.” his voice was dripping with warning, and Alexander actually heeded it, respectfully answering his question.

“It’s a classic, okay? Jesus, John bullies me for my movie taste too.”   
“It’s for kids.”   
“Not if you understand the implications behind it.” he bent his knees up under the covers, setting his heavy head down on the pillow as he dug his spoon into the hard caramel ice cream. Thomas’s brows flicked down.    
“What?”   
“Just watch the movie. And you can kiss me if you want.” Alex grinned coyly around his cool spoon, licking at it, mood changing on a dime, “That’s okay. I don’t mind your little hickey habit.” he sucked off it with a pop, slipping it under the covers to touch Thomas’s belly by surprise.    
“Ah, Christ.” he jerked, taken aback before digging his nails into Alex’s, “Don’t fuck with me, Alexander, you’re being a spoiled fucking douchebag.” He had the urge to give him a mild disciplinary smack, but he was required to suppress his temper now.   
“Your loss.” Alex shrugged carelessly, settling down as the opening scene began to play. Thomas counted to ten in his head, and counted back down; that was how he did it. 

He would think that Alexander was fucking with him, but the way he had asked him to come back was burned and branded right at the ront of his mind. The words echoed.    
“ _ Bring something back. Eat in here. _ ” It was so very different from the backhanded way he would usually carry out affairs if he meant to mess with Thomas’s mind.

Thomas appreciated the silence from Alexander as they both laid there and ate, curled up against one another. The most notorious enemies of all time, licking ice cream off spoons and spooning each other ironically. As the movie carried on, Thomas noticed that Alexander was lip-synching the whole time, only stopping occasionally when he started to drift off, but he’d stir and start again. He knew every single word to the movie, and when the time came for  _ The Walrus and the Carpenter _ , Alex actually... sang the entire song under his breath while Thomas indiscreetly tried to bury his ears in a pillow. 

There were three serious death threats from the driver throughout the course of the song, but eventually it ended with Alex grinning wickedly and Thomas rubbing the bridge of his nose in the blissful ensuing silence. 

(“Bleeding. This is blood. Blood. Coming from my ears. You are…  _ so _ terrible…Oh my God...”   
“Oh, but we haven’t even gotten to the flower scene yet, driver-boy.”) 

But when the scene in the garden came around, Alex didn’t talk. He didn’t speak. Thomas blinked and didn’t move, not wanting to encourage him, but he noticed that he hadn’t touched the remainder of his ice cream, it was melting into a clay colored soup at the bottom of the white container. The driver stifled a yawn and shuffled down further, feeling his own heaviness begin to set in as their faces flashed with the movie light, which reminded him. Thomas quietly pulled out his phone as a remote to turn off the lights gradually until it was completely dark but from the screen lighting their faces, and he sat back. 

The sounds filled the space, just an innocent Disney movie that he hadn’t watched since age five and Alexander’s breathing, which had found a deeper place. Thomas’s phone buzzed in his hand, and he tilted it towards his face. 

“Wasn’t I supposed to come over tonight?” it read, from Nico. He swiped up on the message so it cleared, revealing his lock screen of his car’s steering wheel, and clicked his phone off. This odd sort of melancholy followed the darkening of the screen as he lowered it to the bed. He quietly licked his lips. What the hell was this?

As the minutes passed, Thomas was rocked by the consistency of Alexander’s breathing under his hand on his belly. His eyes slowly squinted, struggling to stay open, the room becoming fuzzier. But in the dimming light, in the cloudiness of onsetting sleep, something before him suddenly… shifted, jolting him like a minor volt of energy. 

His heart skipped a beat. 

He tried to sustain what had just… happened. Something in the folds of the universe had slipped, shifted out of place. He waited. Slowly but surely, it returned, and he stopped breathing. His heart could have stopped beating. 

In the darkness, Alex’s hair was pulled up a bit against the pillow, appearing shorter. And darker, a deep shade of hickory. Thomas’s eyes darted all over his body, lips parted. His curves, everything. The visible peeking cheekbone. Just for a moment…

“Randolph…” Thomas breathed.

It was a trick of the mind, nothing more. But in that moment, it felt so utterly  _ real _ . So impossibly vivid. So sudden. Thomas couldn’t close his eyes, he couldn’t breathe. 

He parted his lips, brows turning up quietly, “Randy…” he mouthed without any sound this time and carefully, slowly curled his hand soft, tenderly around Alexander and gently pulled him closer. The sheer, horrific irony wasn’t even apparent in Thomas’s mind, all that mattered was the cruel illusion before him. His heart thudded, and with every single beat, it _ached_ in his chest. 

Thomas felt it fading, felt it slipping away, sliding like fine sand between his fingers. He closed his eyes, feeling a sudden tightness in his throat as he leaned his face forward just an inch on the pillow and let his lips just barely touch to the top of Alex’s head. He tried….  _ So  _ hard to sustain it. To suspend the feeling. It was so real…

Alexander didn’t even stir, which is what frightened Thomas when he said something. The driver started a bit when Alex grumbled a completely incoherent string of sounds.

“What?” Thomas spoke rudely and lifted his face from Alex’s head, moment completely shattered. His heart was still beating rapidly in his chest. 

“The Cheshire cat. He’s on screen?” 

Thomas licked his lips, looking up tiredly to the bright, flashing light. 

“Yeah…” he answered, puzzled, “Why the hell--”   
“Shhh…” Alexander hushed him in complete calm, never moving an inch. He was completely still; he could have still been asleep, which gave Thomas the uncanny feeling that his voice was coming from somewhere else in the room. 

A shiver ran up his spine, and he swallowed. Before he could say anything, Alexander started to speak again. It took a moment for Thomas to realize that he was speaking in synchronization with the sinisterly grinning cat on screen. 

“Almost everyone’s mad here…” he mumbled, under his breath, but his words were clear. Thomas’s dark eyes scurried across him, his heart picking up speed inexplicably when he realized the light shaking was Alexander laughing with the cat. 

“You may have noticed. I’m… not all there… myself…”

Alex’s face moved for just a moment, an eerie signal to Thomas that he was smiling. Thomas’s eyes widened, his adrenaline pumping from the warnings of instinct. That was it. He was getting up right the _fuck_ now and throwing that repulsive psychopath out of his bedroom, out of his apartment, just  _ out _ . This was wrong. But as quickly as it had come, it passed over. Just another tiny glimpse into the insanity of Alexander’s impossible-to-reach mind. 

It was like keeping spiders in a jar, writhing, crawling over each other with thin, spindly legs. Every once in a while the lid has to open for air, and show a tiny peek of the horrors crawling within. And then it was gone, sealed away behind the charm, the relaxation. Unpredictable. Alex sighed, nuzzling the back of his head into Thomas’s shoulder, pressing his cheek against his arm; it was warm and soft. And he was beautiful once more. 

Thomas was speechless. His body and mind were suspended in a place of hypershock. As he bit his lip and twitched his fingers on Alex’s belly, one thing was clear.    
This wasn’t Randolph. 

He looked his partner up and down. The killer, and knew this could never be Randolph. This was the murderer in his bed. The boy’s eyelids twitched, his face so peaceful and calm once again. Thomas’s raven eyes stared at him and he felt the uneasy tightness in his throat. 

This could never be Randolph. And yet...

He closed his eyes and pressed Alex’s body a little closer to his own. And it didn’t feel wrong despite the whole world looming down over him in disapproval, shaking its head at what was brewing.

* * *

The room was empty. 

That’s what she had known since the night she had awoken, the drugs wearing off enough for her to dizzyingly render a tentative illustration of the place in her mind. Windowless, it was about fifty feet by fifty feet, a large room. And it was empty save for her and an old-fashioned string operated lightbulb that hung just to the left above her ear and a chair across from her that was never occupied. She had, over the course of several hours, removed her boots to slip out a single foot and feel along the floor, gauging the material and temperature. Concrete.

Through the sound of her heavy breathing, she had listened for the echoes, counted the seconds, ran the calculations in her head and drew up an estimation of the area and volume of the space. When she’d tugged against the thin material cutting into her wrists, she could tell by the sharp excess that it was nothing but a cheap zip tie, a grossly simple bind, but far more difficult than handcuffs. When she had rocked herself in the seat, the creaks told her that the chair was impossibly sturdy, but wooden. She had stuck her tongue out to gauge any wind, strained for the sound of an air conditioner, and came to the conclusion that she was underground due to the coolness without airflow. 

She had calculated everything that could be calculated before the time came that someone even entered. But this had happened lifetimes ago, it felt. Now she remained, head hanging, her short-cropped black hair brushing her chin as she breathed shakily, her own breath ringing in her ears. Exactly fourteen days. She had paid careful attention to monitoring and tracking the meals she received. One a day. Fourteen times as of today. They were slowly starving her. 

When the door before her clanged, echoing violently in the space, her head snapped up with a painful rush of blood. Immediately, she locked into a state of alertness despite the blinding pain, the throb; she could feel her pulse on her temples pounding. 

The sliver of light cast a long, thin beam across the floor, and she followed it with her eyes until it fell on her black combat boots and crawled up her body. The slice of brightness cut across her left eye and she squinted and winced, trying to adjust to the blinding white light. Her mouth was dry from constant thirst, and she struggled to keep her head up, but there wasn’t a chance in hell she would let it fall, not in front of mafia rats. Nevertheless, her neck twitched with barely-noticeable effort. A few muffled words reached her ears; she couldn’t tell if it was from hunger, exhaustion, distance, or all that she couldn’t hear clearly. The footsteps that followed were clearer, confirming the latter. 

Heels clicked against the cement, and she counted the pairs of footfalls. Three men, by the sound of the soles. She swallowed against her tightly stretched throat, chin in the air. Sweat glistened on her tanned skin as she blinked the fuzziness from her eyes to see the visitors. Two in full black suits halted on either side of the door, folding their hands in front of themselves and staring ahead like machines. She wanted to curl her lip, but she could save that action for the third man that strolled inside of the room’s walls. 

This one was tall, poised, entitled to his entry whilst he fastened the second button on his dashing grey suit with gloved hands.

She felt bile rise in her throat when he folded his fingers in front of him with a courteous nod to her, his face shielded by a full mask. It was matte, completely plain and depicted the blank face of a man. When on another man and one so sharply dressed, it was nothing but repulsive. The man radiated control, emanated fear and a dark, sinister power. He spoke, his voice filling the space. 

“Miss Schuyler.” he halted before her, the echoes slowly falling silent in a hush. He reached up to daintily pull the string and click on the light. She squinted for a brief moment, head feeling like it was splitting open, but she hid her weakness and curled her lip instead.    
“You…” she breathed, straining through clenched teeth, heart whamming, “Take… that thing off, you coward.” 

The man before her towered, his scent wafting in her nose with the breeze he had brought. High class perfume and cigar smoke. She raised her eyes to him, bloodshot and emitting  _ vibrating  _ hatred.    
“I know who you are, bastard.” she breathed loathingly. 

There was a moment of silence, a pause where the man towered above her and stared down with that blank, pitch face. 

  
“Mm.” he grunted, nodding slowly down at her as he quietly unclasped his hands and let them fall to his sides. Her eyes stayed locked on his despite the movement, “I suppose that’s why you’re here, No? Although I could have you here for that mouth of yours, Miss Schuyler.”   
“Agent.” She corrected with a spit. Her word echoed into another silence. Her eyes widened when he lifted his hand, but he kept on raising it until it was at his temple. With one gloved finger, he tapped, and the mask fell away like mist from his face. Nothing but a hyper realistic projection. He was smiling softly when they came face to face, his features exemplified in the low light, icy blue eyes. 

“Your pride always did outweigh your reason.” he huffed a short laugh, taking a moment to sweep her up and down with his eyes. She was in what she had been in for two weeks: a black T-shirt and black tactical pants on top of combat boots. She saw him looking at her and her lip twitched with quiet rage.   
“And yours.” 

“Come now, Schuyler, there’s no need to be rude. I would be rather cautious with your next words,” his voice was cool and collected, the neutral expression on his handsome face never wavering for an instant despite his words, “If you would like a moment to select them, do so wisely.” 

She barked out a high laugh that rang in the dark room. Her dark circles were visible in the sheer light, but she remained defiant.    
“Kill me.”   
“Beg your pardon?” he didn’t seem at all taken aback, almost pleased as he folded his hands behind his back and took on an even calmer expression, lowering down prestigiously to the chair across from her. Eliza jerked once against the chair, barely noticeable, but the man noticed. 

“I said. Kill. Me.” She spoke clearly through a clenched jaw, “Two weeks. Two weeks, and you haven’t shown your face  _ once _ . Haven’t tortured me. What could you  _ possibly  _ want from me, you slimy fucking coward.”

There was a silence as her words echoed into the room. The man was so composed above her, so charismatic on hearing such an insult from one  _ not  _ in a position to be giving one. His scent engulfed her, and yet she met his eyes as if the chair was nothing but a myth, a minor setback. He grinned softly. 

“Perhaps I am biding my time, Agent Shuyler. I’m sure you understand, I often find myself saving pretty things in case I need them in the future…” he reached out a hand to brush her short, dark hair back from her face and tuck it behind her ear. Her many piercings glinted in the harsh light, but she  _ snapped  _ her head to the side with bared teeth and tried to bite him. She only nicked the tip of his leather glove before he pulled away rapidly. A scuffle from the door signaled that the guards had made a move forward, but the man immediately held up a hand over his shoulder, still facing her. The guards halted as the man’s eyes sparkled.

“Or.” he continued his point as if nothing had happened, “Perhaps you will become part of something too epochal for you to ever dream of.” he breathed, his voice coming out as a sort of relishing whisper. Her dark eyes darted between his cool blue ones, desperately trying to scan for any and all information she could intake. Those words echoed in her mind, resounding through it with dark implications. They carried an unspeakable amount of ominous foreshadow... 

“Why?” she whispered in turn with a tiny shake of her head, “Why are you doing this? Even the  _ most stupid  _ mafia  _ filth  _ would see what he’s messing with. Who you’re testing. You are begging for that teenager to put a bullet through the back of your head when he figures out who you are.” She shook her head in passion with her words, nails gouging into the wood with violent cuts, “When they all do.” 

“Is that what you believe?”   
“He will.” she shook her head in relish with full confidence in her words, “He’s smart, you bastard; he’s smarter than you could ever dream of being.” she spoke faster, her voice gradually rising in frustration and hate, “You have  _ no  _ idea what he’s capable of.”

The man huffed a small laugh and gave her a condescending little smile. Like he knew something she didn’t.

“You have too much faith in Hamilton, Ms. Schuyler.” 

“You.” She lowered her voice to a whisper once more. Their eyes locked, prisoner to captivator, “have dangerously little.” 

The man leaned forward like he was genuinely trying to understand her point, but his coy grin said it all. He placed his elbows on his knees and laced his fingers together charismatically. He would be likeable, charming, even handsome if not so...

“You believe I am unaware what he is capable of?” he whispered while nodding, bobbing his head. Now level with each other, the two stared at one another in a standoff of fire and ice. The man lifted one elegant finger and the two dark figures behind them filed out of the door. It banged closed with a ringing clang of metal, leaving them alone. Eliza’s heartbeat gradually began to thud, a dark feeling in her gut making her uneasy…

“I know…” He blinked at her, “What he is capable of. Randolph Emerson would testify were he not buried six feet under with eight bullet wounds in his lifeless body, now wouldn’t he?” 

Eliza was going to shoot back a response, but she paused, lips already opened. She gradually closed them. Her thoughts raced through her mind and as they did, her brows slowly furrowed down. The man had let something slip, unless it was intentional. 

“How…” Eliza’s brows slowly knitted, puzzled; the knot in her gut tightened, tensing, “is this about Emerson..?” she parted her lips, lost and questioning the man suspiciously at the same time. This was not the topic she was expecting for this conversation. Something wasn’t right here, something… not falling into place. The man flashed her white teeth and looked to the ground before back up to her. 

“Oh, Ms. Schuyler, how is it not?”    
“What do you care? If Hamilton killed an FBI agent.” she shot right back with a disgusted toss of her chin, her wheels already spinning a million miles an hour in her head, calculating. She looked down at her lap, brows furrowed, “That doesn’t make any sense. Emerson was under the contract of the FBI; why shouldn’t you want him dead?” she spoke with a curl to her lips, disgusted to be in the wretched fiend’s presence. The dashingly suited man smiled as if mildly pleased, drawing a little closer. 

“Perhaps, Ms. Schuyler, if he was, say…” he frowned in consideration and looked back up to her with pale blue eyes, “Not an agent in the first place.” he spoke as if it was just a light suggestion, almost a question. Her face opened up slightly, her heart falling in her chest. 

“That’s not--”   
“Not possible?” he finished her sentence for her and leaned back in his seat, listening to it creak as he straightened his elegant tie at his neck. She was staring off at a point on the floor, eyes darting back and forth in rapid contemplation. But it wasn’t… possible. 

“Food for thought. Let me paint a picture for you, Ms. Schuyler.” he crossed his legs as if they were having a civil conversation in the parlor of the Biltmore Mansion, not in the basement of some forsaken place before a mafia king. He lifted his chin slowly. 

“Alexander Hamilton walks free from a life sentence of solitary confinement. Now, the general voice of the FBI acted to make this happen in response to your little message that almost got fully through if not for intervention on my end.” he smiled fondly with tight lips, referring to the mafia as ‘his end’, and she looked away, repulsed. 

“However, I actually played a part in releasing the boy. How? Now, why would I do that, dear? Release the killer whose role is to seek out myself?” he questioned with the answer in mind, running a hand down his tie to smooth it cunningly to his chest. Eliza licked her dry lips, her head spinning and pounding at the riddle talk, listening to a man she thought she had known spin circles around her usually sharp as a blade mind. If she could just have something to eat… something to quench her parched throat.

The man inhaled, content with her struggling confusion, “Seems rather foolish, wouldn’t you say?”    
“Yes.” her voice was strained, her teeth clenched so tightly together that they could crack. He held up one gloved finger as if an idea had come to mind. She had the inexplicable inkling that this had been planned all along.    
“In fact, allow me to illustrate another scenario for you, Ms. Schuyler.”   
“Agent.” she spat, curling her fingers against her cold palms in search of a weak place in the cutting, gouging zip tie. There was none, “and I have no fucking interest in what you have to say unless to confess to the FBI who you truly are and go straight to hell.” she shook her head with hatred brimming them loathingly. He chuckled, his chest rising and falling as he pulled his lapels over it. 

She watched as he took his time to conclude with a content sigh. 

“Tell me, Agent. Schuyler.” he addressed her properly, folding his gloved hands over his knees in a poised, respectful yes powerful position; her eyes darted to them and back up, “does the name ‘James Armistead’ mean anything to you?” he quizzed lightly, enunciating on thename as if she was dumb. She picked up on the mockery in an instant. 

“First FBI agent slaughtered by mafia bastards in a century. Yes. The name  _ means  _ something to me.” She snarled with a spray of spit, violently passionate about her loyalties. The man blinked at her neutrally, giving it a few seconds before he spoke again with his high, charismatic voice. 

“Would you like to know who killed him?” he questioned.    
“Burr. I’m the one who was sent on that case; that was mine to solve.” she responded, but looked down, all at once… slowly understanding where the holes in the history were hazy. Where things were missing, puzzle pieces not quite fitting into place. The man sat back and let her think about it. He had all the time in the world. She looked up. 

“And you claim to be Burr. Everyone must believe Burr is the boss since I discovered the mugshots, then where is he? Who is Burr--why the hell are you impersonating him? Why are you doing this?” She shook her head as she spoke, growing more and more confused. It didn’t make sense. 

“Convenience, Ms. Schuyler.” he corrected gently, ready with an answer as he gestured calmly with his thumbs as if in a business conference, “I found it a rather easy identity to take on once I had the boy, Aaron Burr, terminated.” She couldn’t help the parting of her lips. Her breath quickened against the front of her black shirt in confusion; her head was spinning. 

“One of your own. Why?” She shook her head, her raven hair swinging at her chin. Nothing was checking out. Nothing. 

Two weeks ago, she had taken the mugshots that she had spent months on an operation searching for and attempted to send them to headquarters with information that the boy depicted in them had risen to power since the murder he had committed three years prior. She had been discovered and intercepted, and brought to the real mafia puppet master for a moment of horrifying truth that haunted her every wretched day in this godforsaken basement. And what tortured her the most was that the information she had just sent to Headquarters was false in the most tragic of ways… the boss was not the man in the mugshot. No. 

She wished that it was. 

“Burr murdered Armistead. Burr ascended to power.” she stated her previous beliefs firmly with an indignant waver in her voice, twisting against the zip ties around her ankles with a grunt of pain. The man watched her coolly before he spoke again.

“Not at all. I’m afraid it could never be that simple.” he quietly recrossed his legs in the other direction and looked over her right shoulder, “my father gave me a task in order to succeed him as boss of this enterprise. Can you infer what that might be?”

Eliza shuffled her combat boot half an inch on the floor, twitching. She was too smart not to follow the implications here as her breath gradually quickened. No... 

“Kill. An FBI agent.” she enunciated clearly, cheeks vibrating with unadulterated fury in her eyes. She wanted to break loose and shank this bastard in his coward throat. Stand over him as he died. But he just ignored her obvious despisal and leaned back, rolling his shoulders. 

“Indeed. But who else was to be assigned with the same task?” he lifted a brow, “My idolized, prodigy younger brother. Aaron Burr.”   
“You son of a bitch.” Eliza whispered under her breath. The man watched as the fury mounted, roiling and surging up, “You son of a  _ bitch _ .” She yelled, her voice tearing through the space and ringing back in their ears. The man seemed not to notice her disgust, her revulsion at the murder of a brother, at the fratricide. 

“An old fashioned method of choosing between sons, I’d say. Whichever succeeded at the mission would take the power; he’d proved his worth, and hence become the better sovereign. Rather Romulus and Remus, is it not?” he huffed a short laugh and shook his head, “Assuming you’ve read the legend, terribly entertaining.” he mentioned conversationally, and she would rather have gouged out her eyes than speak to this man as a human. He looked up to the ceiling to recount his story. 

“Armistead was the target. The man had been recently discovered by our inner circle as a spy.”    
“But you knew. You  _ knew _ .”   
He gave her a look that immediately silenced, straight faced. He continued, “Indeed, you are correct, Ms. Schuyler. I had more time than my brother to plan the termination due to my position. Most expected me to succeed considering my age, talents, positions. And yet when the night came in Philadelphia, my brother’s bullet found Armistead’s head before mine.”

“You are despicable…” She breathed, her bottom jaw stuck out, showing her teeth. He smiled at her with a twinkle in his eye, which only made her seethe angrier as he continued his enthralling tale. 

“I was livid. Mortified, you could say. I have only been irrational once in my life, Ms. Schuyler. I take pride in that.” he rolled his shoulders back with an exhale, “This ‘once’ was when I stole his getaway vehicle at the sound of sirens. He was caught--”

“And jailed. That’s where the mugshots were taken.” Eliza filled in, watching all of the pieces fall into place as the story painted itself in front of her eyes in the form of this charming, revolting tycoon. He dipped his head in acknowledgement. 

“Yes. I expected our organization to stay out of it, seeing as lawyers would quickly be involved, but the rescue party was arranged only--”   
“Five hours… later…” Her eyes darted along the floor, all of it coming together, everything she had tried to send to headquarters was…  _ true _ . And it was never more misunderstood, never more complicated. Her heartbeat quickened, her chest was tightening. It felt like the invisible, black walls of the room were slowly… inch by inch closing in on her. 

“Right again.” the man grinned, rapping his gloved fingers once over his knee, “they wouldn’t leave the retiring mafia leader’s son to rot, now would they? Even if his elder son had come back with a nice little story of how he had completed the deed, and his younger brother had gone mad with jealousy.”

Eliza could only shake her head in absolute and complete disgust. The deceit, the  _ lies _ . The web of lies was so tangled... He pursed his lips tightly as if the mistake of his still embarrassed him, “realizing this little… mistake of leaving him to be readily rescued.” he gestured with his thumbs and raised his chin coolly, “I quickly concocted a solution. If my brother were to be released, he would tell the truth about Armistead’s fate. And what I had done. Now how does that reflect on me?” 

Eliza looked at the floor, her hair falling before her face as she slowly clenched and unclenched her fingers in seething hatred. To think she saw this man as a friend once. He cleared his throat. All she could see was red.

“I quietly and quickly phoned the Philadelphia police warden with a little… persuasion. An incentive to see to it that my brother was terminated quietly before we arrived.”   
“You are sick.” She spat under her breath, lips screwed up as if she was going to vomit. Bribery. Bribery of the authorities to get a brother murdered in cold blood. She tasted the tangy, bitter flavor of bile rising in her throat. He just chuckled. 

“Let’s not get harsh, here. Ms. Schuyler.” he smiled politely, so charming as he shifted in his chair, “When it was found by the search party that my poor little brother had ‘committed suicide’ in his isolated cell, it was tragic, truly tragic. He must have rather died than be trumped by his brother in a competition for the title of boss.” The man shook his head as if in pity and uncrossed his legs. He daintily placed his feet on the floor to open both hands.    
“And so. He died an honorable hero, and I lived a leader, taking on his name as my cover in his honor, and the police wiped all records of his brief detainment. The likes of which could have been written by Euripides himself, no? Quite the Greek tragedy we had ourselves.” 

She didn’t respond. She felt the hunger beginning to toll, and she could only breathe, trying desperately to file the information in her mind, sift through it, sort it, analyze it as she was so profound at doing. It all made sense, everything she had discovered on her mission was a gilded version of the horrors that truly took place. The man watched her patiently as she tried to lift her head, beads of sweat glistening on her forehead and nose, a patch on her chest visible through the dark fabric. After several tries, she succeeded. 

“Why are you telling me this? What good is it now?” she clenched her teeth and strained, lightheaded. She blinked rapidly, and he dipped his head once more, “You won.” 

“Ah, yes, I would have forgotten.” with a rustle of suit fabric and the creaky whine of wood, the man leaned forward and stood. Her head struggled to follow him, sweat beading on her upper lip as he rose and rose and rose, towering over her chair. The man rolled his shoulders regally back and straightened his cuffs. 

“In the light of today, the events of the past have no meaning to me. They should not to you, either, Ms. Schuyler. They are useless.” he spoke nonchalantly and daintily folded his hands in front of him. He paused, waiting for the defiant girl’s powerful dark eyes to settle on him, her strong square jaw was shadowed in the stark light. 

“Unless… of course, they can be used for something greater.” His words echoed ominously, eerily down to the ends of the room and back, his words repeating, surrounding Eliza’s head. She didn’t blink as a shiver ran down her shoulder blades and slowly down her spine. 

“What the hell are you talking about?” she shook her head as she spoke the words in a growl, slowly enunciating every consonant. The silver-suited man stood austerely still before her, gazing down. 

“A hint, perhaps?” he smiled, lips curling up. She hated it.  _ Despised  _ looking up into that wretched, twisted face that almost appeared as a thin, fleshy mask guising something hellish beneath. The man inhaled to speak.

“No longer is this about my long dead brother. No. Ancient history has no significance here.” he shook his head, that mystic look coming over his icy eyes once again, “Armistead, Burr, their story, and... you.” he raised his eyebrows for a moment, looming down on her, “Are pawns of a new story beginning to rise from the ashes of what you sent to Headquarters two weeks ago,  _ mia cara ragazza. _ ” He shook his head slowly as if he had been waiting to speak these words for a long… long time. Eliza did the same, lip trembling in fury as she screwed them up tightly along with the rest of her face. The man continued talking; she kept him monologuing in order to milk the information from him. She was livid. And if he saw the emotion he was evoking, perhaps he would continue. 

“This is about Hamilton. Jefferson... And Randolph.” He spoke quietly. 

Time could have stopped in that moment. 

Her heart did. A part of her had expected these names to resurface from the beginning of their conversation. But…   
“Why?” she echoed her thoughts. The man took a slow step backwards, his heel clicking on the cement floor.    
“That is the question, isn’t it?” he raised his chin, eyes glinting devilishly as he ever so slowly backed away, still facing her to talk. She was relentless, sensing the time slipping between her fingers.

“You said you played a role in releasing Alexander. Why? To kill him? Is that what you want, you  _ bastard _ ?”

“Ah, at first to place a bounty and allow thugs to do the dirty work, I confess.” he grinned charmingly back at her as if he was truly making a slightly embarrassing confession, “But the more I contemplate, the more I realized that having the boy dealt with in that manner was in no way… satisfying.” he picked out the word after a moment of taste testing a few others on the tip of his tongue. Questions whirled through the hurricane in Eliza’s mind, so many questions. Millions. The man smoothed down his tie once more, slowly and elegantly. 

“No. I have something else in mind. Something bigger than us all.” he gracefully opened his arms and something completely different, something fiery flashed behind his eyes for just a single moment, 

“Something Randolph Emerson would be proud of.” he whispered, relishing in his tone. Eliza yanked against the zip tie, jerking the chair again. 

“How am I a part of this? What the hell does Randolph have to do with you? ” her voice was raised now, ringing as the man faded back further and further from the light. He grinned, only his smile visible like a cheshire cat.

“Everything, Ms. Schuyler.” he spoke with his cool tone, obviously pleased with their meeting. She yanked once more, her raven hair bouncing about her face and in front of her vision. 

“He’ll figure it out.” she called, listening to her own words ring back at her in the echoey room, “He’ll figure out who you are before you do whatever the  _ hell _ you think you’re going to do to him. He’ll kill you.” The more she spoke, the higher her tone until she was yelling, spittle flying. 

“I don’t think he will.” the man dipped his head a degree with a blink, already satisfied. There was a scraping sound as she kicked her combat boot heel against the leg of the chair violently, as hard as she fucking could with the restraint.

“ _ Damn you _ !” she screamed, the hurricane in her mind whirling and slicing through her head, clouding her vision, “ _ Why _ ?” the single word shredded her throat as she screamed it and jerked forward as far as she could in the chair. What was his ‘greater plan;’ what the hell was his motive? How… did Randolph’s death play into the release of Alexander? There was no time to ask.

The man kept his arms open as he elegantly backed up to the doors, which opened without him even touching them. 

“That is the question, isn’t it?” he repeated his previous words with a cunning flash in his eyes, “ ‘ _ Why’ _ ?” he quoted her. 

That was the last thing Elizabeth Schuyler saw before the exhaustion, the stress, the sheer hunger blurred her vision and everything went black, her body falling limp against the back of the chair. Her belly still rose and fell, still alive. 

The man would make sure to keep it that way. 

  
  
  
  
  



	14. The Schuyler File

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I love you all, and as always, I really hope you enjoy! <3 <3 :D

Alexander lowered his head to watch his feet tap soundlessly on the dirty tile floors. They surely used to be white and were now stained a miserable creme color with generations of teenager’s shoes and with decorative little flecks of blue littered in the tile as if someone had tried to make the material festive, but in light of the location, the circumstance, it just looked pathetic. Definitely here, they were almost an insult. 

In any other situation, he’d hug the wall, lay low, scout. But now, he stayed in the center of the corridor, head down, eyes down, shoulders rounded forth with the tug of his fraying satchel over his shoulder blade that he had repaired with duct tape three times now since third grade. And counting, by the way it was faring in the past month. 

The hollow, echoey roar of chatter engulfed his ears that were both perked for words and selectively deaf to his surroundings simultaneously. He was alert, calculative, on the outside looking in as he twiddled with the tattered red pencap in his pocket, rough and covered in bite marks. The clobber of footsteps shuffled around him, the slamming of lockers, the clink and zip tie-ish sound of combination locks being unlatched. 

Girls chattered in groups. Guys chattered in groups, a sea of bobbing, heads of hair and buzzing as the school announcements sounded on the hopelessly outdated loudspeaker. Alex bumped against peoples shoulders, two girls scurried by on the other side and jerked him with a thud, but he hardly even grunted, just pulled down the brim of his baseball cap and kept walking. Well, technically it wasn’t his. It was his father’s Bald Island Bistro hat, navy blue and beat up. It wasn’t the only one, so he sympathized.

Alex kept his eyes trained on the soles tramping around him as he turned to the blue locker that he called his own, locker 888. It was an easy number to remember, almost as easy as the combination. He shrugged his satchel up onto his bony shoulder and lifted his weary arms, twisting the knob thoughtlessly with the help of muscle memory. He kept his head down, staring at his shoes--white, with the brand worn off, so he couldn’t see, but by the stain the logo had left he guessed Underarmour.

As he spun the combo mindlessly, his ears perked. Not at a noise, which he had become well weathered to, but to a silence. A hush. He slowly tucked his lock in his jeans pocket and scanned the floor. There were no feet around him. He swallowed, doing a tiny, surreptitious double take over his shoulder to peer around skeptically, his heart pattering against the front of his far-too-large sweatshirt. People gave him sideways glances, some slowing down, some moving at the same pace with a secretive glimpse. But they weren’t looking at him. Their eyes darted above his head today. 

Alex turned back to his locker, heart pounding in dread as he slowly… slowly scanned his eyes up past the ventilation grate on the blue, metal surface and stopped. The breath caught silently in his throat. Someone had obviously taken the time to tape four sheets of paper to his locker. In screaming red, probably spray paint, the message was written. 

WHERE’S DADDY, FREAK?

Alexander’s stomach lurched. 

The boy swallowed, giving another quick double take as someone snickered behind him. Another giggled. The message burned into his eyes, flooding his mind. His heartbeat accelerated. Suddenly, his hand clenched around the lock in his pocket painfully and he whirled back to his locker. He screwed up his lips and shot up the other hand to curl around the side of the paper and tear it down, ripping it where it was attached to the scotch tape and leaving jagged, white streaks on his locker. With a shredding, ripping sound, he screwed up his lips furiously, reaching again to tear down the other side while people watched and others passed.

He stuffed the paper, balled up, into his sweatshirt pocket. Whoever had done this had hung the first two so that he couldn’t reach them at five-foot-three. On purpose. He wasn’t about to hop in front of everyone, but the message still read, “WHERE’S DADDY,” which wasn’t any better. Alexander hissed livid breaths through his nose and whirled away, not bothering to lock it. He had nothing of value in there in the first place unless someone was into stealing crumpled and folded test scores and an old issue of Tactical Life Magazine . There wasn’t any lunch in there either. 

Someone “ooh”-ed in the background, but Alex hiked down the brim of his hat once again and dug his nail into the pencap as he pushed through two people, with his shoulders. Fuck first period. Fuck Mr. Weathers and having to learn coordinating conjunctions and participles when the letters and words disappeared and floated all over the board like they were trying to escape this hellhole too. He was headed somewhere else. 

Hands shoved in his pockets he listened to the homeroom bell ring, screaming above his head as students filtered and filed through doors. Not him. Not the junkies he was looking for: Carlos Mendoza and company. 

He climbed the empty, echoey stairwell that smelled like cigarette smoke and body odor and pushed open the door at the top. A direct right took him to the one doorway he was looking for--the second floor bathroom. He stepped inside the space, and sure enough, the expected lay inside. 

Three boys were smiling, talking to one another and obviously laughing when Alex walked in. the door slammed shut behind him, leaving them all in silence. 

The head of the pack, gave Alex one sweep up and down with dishwater-colored eyes. These kids were seniors. Their clothes were a fucking three sizes too big for their lanky bodies, but they were designer, unlike the freshman’s. The boy in the center had his palms leaned back on the windowsill, the other boy leaned against the sink, the final against the stall. Their smiles quickly faded into vague looks of inconvenience. Alexander dropped his satchel to the floor with a thump and stared at them. The tallest at the windowsill shook his head slightly in this demeaning little gesture and a scowl. 

“Did someone ask you to come in here…?” he spoke with a lightly annoyed dirty look, just enough to let Alexander know that he was irritating, but not enough to be worth anyone’s time. Alexander didn’t nod before he spoke.    
“Yeah, Mendoza.” he punched the name a bit, even with his low tone, “Actually, you did when you pulled this little stunt.” he extracted the crumpled paper from his pocket and let the boys see the red paint splashed on it. Alex nodded, bobbing his head, “Real mature, guys. Real mature.” he shook his head with an annoyed sneer and stuffed it back in. He looked to them when they hardly even responded and he held out his palms just an inch from his body. 

“Just leave me the hell alone. Alright?” he spoke, voice echoing in the filthy bathroom, “I didn’t do anything to you, so fuck off with the bullshit.” The two at the sides of Carlos made little O’s with their mouths, smiling with mocking expressions. The tallest broke out into a slow smile and crossed his arms over his chest.    
“Dunno what the fuck you’re talking on, shortstack.” he shrugged. Alex had made to walk away, but he opened his arms, blood beginning to boil. He wouldn’t do this if he didn’t have the fury and adrenaline already coursing through his veins. 

“Oh yeah, right. The graffiti diss on my locker just magically fucking appeared.” he scoffed, “And, ‘Where’s your daddy, freak’? Real fucking original.” but pursed his lips and looked to the side. This wasn’t worth it. They weren’t worth it. 

“Just piss off, guys. Leave me alone.” 

The taller bit his lip and nodded as if in consideration. He pushed off from the sill with his back to a standing position and dipped his head. A searing spurt of adrenaline lanced through Alex’s chest when he realized the kid was taking a step forward. The freshman froze in place as Carlos sauntered up to him, but he stopped five feet away and raised his eyes. They locked.    
“Thought you’d enjoy the attention. You know, since nobody gives enough fucks to give you any.” he grinned, and then scoffed a short laugh, “Fuck out of here, shortstack; nobody asked you to talk.” he didn’t even look over his shoulder at his buddies snickering like fucking jerks. Alex’s cheeks raged scarlet in humiliation, being treated as less than nothing. This wouldn’t happen outside of school. Not with his associations. But in this hellhole… he was helpless.

“You think I care enough to graffiti up a freshie’s school locker or some stupid shit? How old am I?” 

Alex bobbed his head too, speaking as he raised his eyes, nails digging into his palms in his pockets.   
“Too old to be going here anymore, Mendoza, but here your dumbass is anyway.” 

The words were barely out of his mouth before there was a sharp inhale of breath and a rustling of necklace chains and fabric. Alexander squeaked when the wind was knocked out of him, his spine slammed against the cold tile wall. Footsteps echoed over the sharp panting. 

“Hear him squeak, fucking faggot.” One of the guys chortled, but Alex was more focused on the face right up next to his. A forearm was pressed against his chest, clamping onto the fabric at his shoulder and holding him to the wall.    
Carlos’s dark skinned face with a scarred lip and ebony eyes took him in up and down once more, the tip of his tongue darting between his lips like he was deciding what to do. 

“Got jokes, fag?” he huffed a laugh and lifted the finger of his other hand to tap under the brim of his hat, knocking it off his head. Alex growled, baring his glittering, jeweled teeth as his eyes burned at the sudden bright light. He squinted, but searing shots of lancing pain laced up the left side of his face; without his hat, the horrid black eye was out in the open. The boys, now cornering him, “ooh”-ed in a laughing, jeering manner. Alex’s eyes darted around, trying to find a way to get himself out of what he’d done, but they weren’t threatened. They didn’t even care; he was a freshman and a toy. 

“Nice black eye, shortstack.” Carlos laughed, looking to one of his buddies before he pressed a thumb right onto the wine-colored splotch under Alex’s eye. He dug his finger in, and Alex gritted his teeth and let out a whimper.

“Aww.” one of the guys taunted and threw a hand on his friend’s shoulder, obviously having a good laugh. Like Alex was a toy meant for entertainment. Carlos tilted his head. 

“Your daddy beat you, fag?” Tears welled up in Alex’s eyes from the pain, blurring his vision as his little chest rose and fell. Carlos finally let go. He tilted his head even more just to be a cruel asshole, to the amusement of his friends, dipping his face to show the height difference. 

“He beats you?” he spoke louder this time, right into Alex’s face so the boy cringed away, hating the stench of cigarettes and something else indistinguishable on his rank breath. Carlos licked his lips again, waiting for his friends to be done laughing for his next act. He stared right in Alex’s eyes.

“Ohh, I forgot.” he breathed in wonder, “Your daddy’s  _ dead _ , isn’t he?” he smiled, “You killed him. Is he dead?” he mocked in a pouting voice, sticking out a bottom lip to taunt Alexander. His friends were bursting to laugh, one had spun off to place a hand on a stall and shake with pent up laughter. 

“Get…” Alex’s voice was as low as it could go, gravelly and dripping with warning, “away.. from me… fucker.” his tone darkened, even his light eyes were clouded with a sinister shroud. Carlos’s irises flickered with something that Alexander knew well. Fear. The older one covered it in an instant. 

“Just trying to help, pansy boy. You know what’s good for black eyes?” Alex’s eyes widened, and sensing he was about to be moved, he jerked. Carlos just jeered, tightening his grip and wrenching Alex from the wall and putting him stumbling into a headlock. The boy’s long, uncut hair fell over the taller’s bare arm, spilling like honey and flinging as he was manipulated.   
“A nice, cold shower.” the taller strained through gritted teeth, dragging Alex like a doll as the boy kicked and writhed, trying to twist free with both hands on the strong arm, but the grip was iron. He wrestled, hair flying.

“Fuck off!” he roared, but he was drowned out by the amused giggles.    
“Guys, take his arms. Yeah.” Carlos spoke, breathless with laughter and grinning ear to ear. It was an idle pastime, nothing serious for him. Alex jerked over and over again, sweatshirt riding up as the guys on either side of him wrapped large hands around his clothed biceps, watching him squirm and grunt as Carlos pushed him by the throat up to the sink. 

“Don’t think they wash these things.” he shrugged as he pushed Alexander powerfully backwards. He stumbled over his oversized shoes, stepping one leg back in a bit of a lunge, but the senior overpowered him, bending his back until his hair filled the bowl of the sink like a golden-brown lake. Carlos tilted his head again, watching Alex’s wide eyes and pale throat heaving for breath. 

“Have a drink.” he scoffed with a sneer, letting his friends to the holding as he jerked both knobs of the sink, sending a splashing stream of water straight down onto Alexander’s face with a hiss. His body  _ jerked  _ powerfully, his belly arching up as he tried to stand, but he was held fast. The boys watched him, falling apart into hysterics, their whooping echoing in the tiled room. 

After ten seconds, Carlos sniffed and turned off the water. Alex gasped and gulped for air, sputtering. His hair was now dark brown and curled into strongly tendrils against the drain. His face was glistening with liquid, his lashes clumped. 

“C’mon, Carly, one more time. My favortite fucking game.”   
“‘Shock the Dad-less Faggot’?” There were more jerky, fuckboy snickers and a sigh.    
“Aight.” Carlos agreed and leaned over him again to flicked forth both knobs with a squeak. Alex tried to jerk his head to the side, but banged his eye on the basin. He saw stars dancing in his eyes as he was drenched in freezing water in the filthy sink, choking. If he’d’ve just kept quiet…

The sound of the water hissing roared in his ears as he sputtered and bubbled. He didn’t even hear the bathroom door banging closed until Carlos turned off the water and let him go. He couldn’t say the same about his goons. 

“The fuck are you?” Mendoza scoffed contemptuously, voice obviously directed to the door. Someone had entered. 

There were two footsteps.

“Hey. let him go, man.” the new voice was collected, firm, and kind as if he was shaking his head with open palms and pursed lips.   
“I said, who the fuck are you.”   
“And I said to let him go. I don’t want any trouble, alright?” there were heavy footsteps of the senior.

“Wanna be smart, bro? That it--” 

There was a sickening “thwack!” with a crackle of bone to follow. 

“Woah, woah, man, what the hell?” one of Mendoza’s friends raised his voice and scuffled his feet on the bathroom floor. Both of Alex’s arms were released, and he squirmed with an aching back, standing from his position to look around wildly. His soaked hair stained the shoulders of his sweatshirt and dripped down his neck. 

Carlos was bent over a bit with his hands to his face, tripping over his feet a couple steps and slamming his back with a reverberating bang into the side of the stall. 

There was another boy in front of him that Alexander had never seen before, wearing a red and yellow letterman jacket and jeans. His brown hair was back in a ponytail pulled away from his soft-featured face, curly at the ends; he looked slightly foreign--perhaps he or his parents were Caribbean, was Alexander’s immediate guess, but there was no definite way to tell. 

Alexander gulped, still shocked from the arctic dive and the scene before him. Carlos lowered his hand from his face to reveal glistening blood in his palm. Alexander’s heart beat strong when he saw it, his pupils dilating. He couldn’t help being keen on the sight of blood. He never could. 

“I said I didn’t want any trouble, guys.”   
“Dude. Just chill the fuck out.” The shorter friend scoffed, chains bouncing around his neck as the three ushered out of the room, stumbling over each other a bit to get out as they cast dirty looks over their shoulders. The door creaked open and slammed shut once again. It just left the two standing in the room alone. 

John Laurens took a moment, a first moment to scan his assignment up and down, take him in, but…he didn’t amount to much. He hadn’t expected to find him being bullied in a bathroom sink. 

He was short as hell, skinny. His clothes were second generation and way too big for his hunger-pang body, and his wet, shoulder-length hair clung to his face. The worst of it was a black eye blooming under his left eye like an oil spill. But what struck him the most were those  _ uncanny  _ blue irises. They were so light blue, they were nearly violet like an amethyst crystal. He couldn’t tell if they sparkled with tears or water. 

Despite the pitiful sight in front of him, his lips tugged into a tiny smile. He liked him already.

John sighed and shook out his hand.    
“Damn. He’s got a hard head, whoever that was.” he laughed breathily, holding his wrist and rolling it around, “That snap was my knuckles.” he added, hoping to draw out a laugh. Part of his job was to get the recruits to like him so he could get closer to them. 

But this one didn’t respond. He blinked once, droplets of water dripping pitifully from his chin as he turned back to the sink and looked in the mirror. John watched, puzzled, as he quietly rubbed his face in the sleeves of his sweatshirt, drying it. He puffed his cheeks out for a moment and caught sight of Alexander’s hat abandoned on the floor. Keeping an eye on the boy, he stepped to it. 

“This yours?” he tried again, bending over to pick it up and turn it around in his hands. Bald Island Bistro. Alex gave him a glance in the mirror with those striking blue eyes and looked back to his task, wringing out his hair with the tinkling of water droplets.    
“Yeah.” he grunted simply. John licked his lips. Not much to work with, but this was what he was trained for. He cleared his throat.

“Those guys give you that shiner?” he referred to the black eye casually, conversationally. His leisure seemed to coax Alex out, so he took note to keep that up. The boy shrugged. 

“No.” he responded this time, so John leaned up against the side of the stall, giving him space so he felt free to talk. 

“Damn. Why’re they on your ass like that, man?”   
“Why do you care?” Alexander snapped back, drawing back into his shell, but his voice was impossibly… even? Controlled. John took note of that little thing in his mind. 

“I’m a new transfer. The first thing I see is a bro getting washed in the bathroom, just curious of the dynamic here.” he shrugged, crossing his arms over his letterman jacket. He watched Alex in the mirror, and after a few seconds, his spikes seemed to retract slowly. 

“They’re drug junkies, alright? They left a nasty little souvenir on my locker, so I wanted to chat.” he grumbled, still on edge and wary, “Didn’t go well. Obviously…” he mumbled under his breath, pulling his sweatshirt down. John watched him, curious. The way he spoke was almost mature. He could sense the intelligence even here in the bathroom. 

“Souvenir?” John inquired, leaning back.

Alex shook his head, reaching into his pocket. The guy was nosy, but he seemed friendly enough, not a threat to him. 

“Here.” he tossed the two sheets of paper on the floor at John’s feet, “Decipher that if you’ve got time to loiter on your first day.” 

John tucked the hat under his arm and bent over to gather the papers with a curious scowl. There was crinkling and crackling as he unballed them and smoothed them out. He looked up once he had put two and two together, literally. Alex’s back was still facing him.    
“Freak?” he asked. Alexander shrugged.   
“That’s what I could reach. You get the drift.”

John fluttered his eyes, shook his head, and exhaled with puffed cheeks, “Well shit. Sorry man.”

“Don’t need your sympathy.” The kid grumbled vaguely like that was a line well weathered on his tongue, “Just go out of here before they come back. Go first.”    
John paused and his brows flicked down with a nervous smile and little laugh. 

“I could use some help finding homeroom, but if you don’t wanna be seen with the new guy… that’s cool.” He shrugged, “I get that.” 

Validate the point of the recruit. He ran through his tacts. 

The boy actually laughed, it was high as he finally turned around, hands on the rim of the sink. John blinked, his teeth were lined with two rows of light blue braces that matched his eyes. Kinda cute, but that thought was far in the back of his head. He was at work. Alex’s laugh was cold, ingenuine, and his face fell right back into a guarded, walled expression. 

“You want a rundown on the ‘dynamic’ here?” he looked him up and down, obviously taking into account his higher class clothing, “Let me give you the gist. Stop wearing whatever the hell you’ve got on unless you want it stolen right off your ass in broad daylight.” he smiled lightly as he spoke, tilting his head just a bit to the side to let his wet hair fall over his shoulder. John huffed a laugh back, wanting to come off as friendly. 

“Noted.”   
“And two.” he pushed off from the sink, looking into John’s brown eyes with his icy ones, “Find friends somewhere else.” Alex stepped up to him, giving him a friendly smile before snatching his cap back from John’s hands. John’s lips parted, but Alex had already whirled off with the acrid scent of cigar smoke, not even stopping as he stooped to pick up his satchel and stroll out the door. John stood for a moment, dumbstruck. 

“Ay, wait.” his voice echoed a bit in the empty hallway as he exited behind Alexander. Alex didn’t look over his shoulder, until John had a hand on it. The boy cringed, jerking away with a snarl.   
“The fuck are you doing, man?” Alex whispered, shouted between clenched teeth. John’s brows furrowed.

“Woah, look, I just need someone to help me through the first day.” he lifted his hands in innocence, shaking his head, “You don’t like me after that, you can ditch my ass.”   
“Look, man.” Alex put his palms together like he was praying, but he was just smiling in impatience, “You seem like a decent guy, alright? That’s why I’m telling you to stay away from me now.”   
John’s heart dropped into his stomach. Was this a threat? Lafayette had warned him that the recruit had a supposed history of violence, but he’d never taken it genuinely seeing the boy’s appearance. Alex sped up, soles slapping on the ugly tile, but John hopped a step to easily stay in pace with the shorter companion.

“Why?” Was his simple response, blinking in befuddlement. Alexander shook his wet head. Out of the blue, Alexander stopped and turned to face him, John copied him, unexpecting of the halt, but he followed. They were now in the dead middle of the hallway, rows of blue lockers and classroom doors flanking them as far as the eye could see. Alex looked up and down once before he spoke.    
“I’m doing you a favor, whoever the hell you are, because you cracked that fucker’s nose, alright?” John was going to respond with his name, but Alex went on, hands shoved deep in his pockets. 

“If you want to survive, steer clear of me. You’re looking for friends here, I’m not the way to go.”   
John shrugged, peering down on him, “Why, man? You seem chill to me.” he stated casually. Alex looked back and forth, his indigo eyes darting once more before he stepped close to John, close enough to whisper. John’s heart rate accelerated. 

“People here. They’re scared of me.” he spoke, his voice as cool and calm as if he were an adult, “This is Harlem, dude. 2062. Find a group. Find a gang to protect you, because you’ll get some pretty odd glances if you hang around with the school psychopath.” he turned away.

“Alright. What if I’m willing to take my chances?” John continued where Alex had wanted the conversation to end, both of them walking now, “You don’t mind me; I don’t mind you, then let me stick around.”   
“Then you're an idiot. And you don’t even know me.”   
“What’s your name.”   
“What?”

“What are the letters that appear on your birth certificate.”   
Alex glanced sideways up at him, still weighing his options as they passed the glass windows on the classroom doors. He swallowed. Something about this guy didn’t make him prickle. He grinded his jaw, thinking. Would it be so bad…?

“Hamilton. Alexander Hamilton.” he spoke eloquently, deciding to test him. At least for a little experiment if he decided not to keep him around.    
“What do your friends call you?”   
“Don’t have any.”   
“Nicknames?”

“Friends. Not here at least.” he grunted vaguely, not a hint of emotion in his voice. He didn’t care about that fact. He didn’t seem to feel it. John still grinned ahead.   
“Well. I’ll fill both of those holes, Alex.” John stated.   
“That sounded weirdly sexual, but okay.”   
“Not sorry.” John exhaled a snickering laugh at the witty humor that he knew mirrored his own. This wouldn’t be a drag; he could tell from the get-go.

“Gonna tell me your name, John Laurens?” Alex tilted his face up to his smugly with a sly glance. John almost stopped dead in his tracks, shocked speechless. 

“How the hell did you--”   
“The card on the inside of your jacket. Read your name when you bent over to pick up the paper.”   
John was shocked. That intuitiveness was… impressive. He blinked. 

“Wow. Yeah, that’s me.” he looked forward, still squinting, but quickly looked back at him again with parted, awed lips, fascinated and unable to hold back his enthrallment. 

“Is that why you tossed them to me like that? On the ground.” Alexander lifted his chin slightly in the air, barely noticeable as he kept his head straight forward. 

“Perhaps.” 

John just kept walking by his side, wonderstruck, hardly having time to ponder the insanity before the next question; the boy was chattier now that he’d found a baseline of trust.

“Where’re you from?”   
“Brooklyn, but my parents are Puerto Rican. Moved to East Harlem ages ago to downsize.”

Alex frowned and nodded, but John was too lost in thought to return the question; he obviously already knew the boy was Harlem born, Harlem raised.

But there was something different about him, and his mind was already running a million miles per hour. He’d never recruited from a high school before. He’d scouted at some, but never actually gone through with recruitment, especially not with sixteen-year-old  _ freshman _ who only had that title since he had been held back in third grade for failing every subject save for math. But this one… he hadn’t even seen him shoot yet, and he knew that he was special. 

He decided to take a risk and looked down on his soggy-haired acquaintance under the shade of the Bald Island baseball cap. 

“Hey, why do you put up with those jackasses, bro?” he inquired, keeping his tone not sympathetic but not harsh, a solid neutral, but he felt Alexander prick up, becoming wary, but he couldn’t stop, “I mean, why not just report them for being dicks?”   
Alex flicked him a glance, purplish eyes glinting in the fluorescent, cheap school light fixtures on the ceiling, “They won’t be laughing forever.” he answered with a shrug, a tiny smirk tugging at the ends of his lips, “That’ll be my job when the tables turn.” 

He responded coolly as if this provided all the answer that was needed and more. John’s mind raced; he licked his lips, casting a quick glance down on his new acquaintance and back to the ground again. He felt like he should say something, but Alexander seemed to have no qualms as he easily brushed it off.

“You gonna tell me your homeroom or should we just walk right out of the second floor window?”   
“Uh, Weathers.”   
“Mine too. Last class on the right.”   
“Can you tell him I’m here; I actually went into that bathroom to piss, not to knock someone’s jaw off.”

“Last door on the left.” Alex smiled down, seemingly trying to hold it back as not to show his braces. John wondered why, especially when he was the kind of boy that looked  _ good  _ with braces on, but that wasn’t what was occupying his mind at the moment. He straightened his letterman jacket on his shoulders and watched the tattered kid drift to the right. He just looked so… ratty, on the borderline of scrappy. A beaten up old satchel, a baseball cap to hide his black eye and damp, dark hair. He was a wreck.

John decided to play the acquaintance and just give him an extremely heterosexual nod--if that was a thing--as he veered off into the bathroom, pushing the door open and carefully closing it behind him. The itch to get this task done was making him restless as he paced down the line of stalls, pushing them open and checking every one for people. When he found that they were all empty, he jogged back, soles slapping on the cold, slick tile as he locked the door so no one could enter after him. 

“L, L, L…” he whispered under his breath, searching for “L” in his contacts for Lafayette’s work number as he paced in a small circle at the center of the bathroom, jittery. His thumb scrolled past his contacts list and finally punched the phone button the instant he saw Lafayette’s name. He flicked his cell up to his ear, looking at himself in the mirror as he rocked on the balls of his feet, bouncing as he listened to the dull dial tone. It rang. And rang. He couldn’t believe himself, but he had already made the decision that would cost him a year of his life. The kid had basically spelled it out for him with his odd, riddlish words: he had ambition. He had motivation to have ambition.

He had  _ fire  _ in those frighteningly intelligent icy eyes .

When recruiters got an assignment, they watched the person for around a week to a month to decide if they’re worth ‘marking down’ for recruitment. Once marked down, they had to be scouted under FBI recruiters’ eyes for one full year before the recruitment decision. One in three thousand got marked down. 

John had made the decision in ten minutes. 

His fingers rapped on his hip. 

He began to lose hope… until the other side picked up. 

“Mr. Laurens.” the thickly accented voice purred over the phone, emote with concern, “All is well?” John exhaled his overwhelming relief. 

“Yes. More than, actually.” his words were speedy, and he licked his lips, trying not to rush this. There was a short pause of surprise. John’s eyes darted to his own in the mirror. 

“How so?” Lafayette prompted.    
“My assignment, Alexander James Hamilton, Harlem New York.”   
“Yes. The one Washington said to watch, oui?”

“Yes. Him.” John licked his hips, inhaling a quiet deep breath against his T-shirt, preparing himself for what he was about to do. This was astronomical. This was… huge. He closed his eyes. 

“Mark him down.” 

His words rang in the bathroom as if the whole world had heard. Alone, in that crummy bathroom, time stopped. This drew a considerable silence on the other end of the line. 

“I… do not understand.” Lafayette was definitely shaking his head in a puzzled scowl, “How so soon?”   
“He’s smart. I may only have been doing this job for two years, but I know enough to know when my assignment is worth the job. And this…” he shook his head, ponytail sweeping the back of his jacket, “Lafs, I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“He is…” there was a shuffling of paperwork; he’d obviously caught Lafayette at his desk, “Sixteen as of yesterday?”    
“Yes.”   
“And… you want me to mark him down.”   
“Sir,” John breathed in once again, composing himself and bating his excitement in order to achieve the desired effect here. He hooked a thumb in his belt. 

“You will not regret it. The bureau won’t regret it if you do this.” 

John squeezed his eyes shut in silent prayer. He was young. The youngest in the recruitment department at nineteen years old, which was why he was selected for high school and lower-college undercover scoutings: both because he could fly undetected and he was less likely to come across one of talent and accidentally miss it because of inexperience, since there weren’t many ‘one’s of talent’ in these places to begin with. But he had found one. He  _ knew  _ he had found one, and Lafayette needed to trust him on this. 

The Frenchman drew in a long,  _ long  _ sigh.    
“I will. I have confidence judgement, Mr. Laurens.” the man silently pulled his head away from the phone and rolled it back, shaking a triumphant fist in front of him in pent up, silent relief. When he had exhaled the tension, he put it back to his ear. 

“One more thing, Lafs.”   
“Yes?”   
John found his own deep brown, almost ebony eyes in the mirror. He knew what he was going to ask. And he completely trusted in himself that he was doing the right thing in asking it; he simply knew. It was a feeling he couldn’t explain, something abstract pulling him to speak the next words. He placed a hand on the edge of the sink and rapped his nails along the ceramic sink basin. Looking in himself, he only felt a sense of decisive confidence as the image of those icy blue eyes flashed in his mind. 

“Hercules Mulligan’s recruit. That he marked down last week. T. Jefferson.”

The Frenchman sighed through the muffled phone static, “Ah, oui, the ‘driver of the century’ as they call him.” he drawled with a snooty hint of idle tiredness of hearing the name in his tone. John scratched his nose, inhaling. He looked in the mirror, knowing full well that this decision could make history. It could fall into irrelevance if he was wrong, but if he was right…the repercussions of his decision would be sent out into the narrative of history like a pebble dropped at the center of the stillest lakes. And yet his tongue moved. 

“Mark them as a pair.”

* * *

Thomas felt consciousness creep back into the far reaches of his body, gently nudging him to awakeness. Eyes still closed, he swallowed and inhaled, stretching his lungs for the first breath of the day, filling his body with life as he stirred.    
“Mm…” he grunted as he exhaled, and extended his feet, clenching up his legs in a stretch. He licked his lips and rotated his head to lay it limply on his shoulder as if to go back to sleep. 

That is, if he hadn’t smacked his face right into Alexander’s forehead. He made a surprised sound that was somewhere between a shocked narwhal and a spider monkey as he jolted, lifting his head from the pillow. His tendons popped in his neck as he suspended the weight of his head and panted, jarred out of his sleepy state like he was electrocuted. 

His bleary, blurry eyes focused as he blinked them rapidly. Alexander lay facing him on his shoulder, his body parallel and pressed up against Thomas’s. His golden-brown hair spilled over Thomas’s arm on the pillow, lengthy, thick, and shiny. His eyes were peacefully closed, but Jesus Christ, the kid was snoring like a honey badger with a sinus infection. 

For a moment, Thomas didn’t move. He just stared. He just stayed, petrified, in that state as he slowly comprehended what had just happened. His dark eyes darted around the bed, their empty ice cream cups and spoons that were strewn, the telescreen still pulled down but black, their phones scattered in the blankets that they were both under. Together. Sleeping.

He had just  _ slept  _ with Alexander Hamilton. And it hit him like a semi doing ninety. And he was  _ mad _ .

“You gotta be fucking kidding me…” Thomas mumbled on an exhale, laying his head back on the pillow for a brief moment to squeeze his eyes shut and rake a hand over his raven hair before clenching his abs and doing a situp. Alex’s breath hitched on a snore, cutting off the awful noise with a tiny sniff. As Thomas sat up, Alexander stirred to life and took a deep breath in, curling his toes and shuffling the sheets as he turned on to his back with a wide yawn

“Mmm…” He sighed, smacking his lips as he folded his hands on his chest neatly and let his head fall comically to the side to look over at Thomas with a smile. 

“Good morning, sunshine.” he spoke kindly at Thomas--sitting up but bent forward, rubbing his temples with darkness in his eyes, and obviously anything  _ but sunshine _ right now. Thomas growled deep in his chest and shook his head before using his hands to scoot forward and swing his legs out of bed. 

“Sleep well?” Alex inquired politely with a wicked little grin, watching Thomas stand up and pinch his nose, not facing him.    
“Alexander… why didn’t you wake me up after that freak show horror film ended?” he mumbled, groggy-sounding.

The boy shrugged, “Was asleep too. Shit, Thomas, are you hungover?” he laughed highly, grunting as he scooted gingerly to a sitting position too, conscious of his legs, “You look awful.”   
“Well. Didn’t fucking ask.” Thomas grumbled, “And I don’t get hungover.”   
Alex cocked his head, wincing in a doubtful way, “Don’t you though? Aren’t you getting a little old?”

“Aren’t you getting out of my bed?” Thomas didn’t even look at him as he shuffled away into his closet, “Quit staring at my ass, and get dressed. Two minutes.” Thomas called before he slammed the door behind him. Alex was left alone in dumbstruck silence, but he had no intention of going anywhere. He glided his hand over the sheets in search of his phone.    
“Not going anywhere without a good morning kiss, driver-boy.” he cooed right back, reeling in his cell with his fingertips and unlocking it with his face. There was thumping from inside the closet of a drawer closing. 

“You have thirty seconds to get the hell up and get the hell out. This was a mistake.”   
“What was?” Alex responded, leaning back against the pillows as he tapped on his emails. Thomas shuffled from within the door. 

“You. Sleeping. In my bed.  _ Fucking  _ screwed up, Hamilton.” he clipped, slamming another drawer. Alexander just nonchalantly scrolled through his emails, hardly reserving an ear to listen to Thomas. 

“Mhm.” Alex replied, tapping on one from Washington. He squinted at it, tilting his head and blinking rapidly as the letters in his view disappeared in and out of existence and slipped down from the bar. Frustrated and now irritated, he highlighted it, cheeks glowing red, and pressed the microphone. An automated voice read out loud: “Meeting at Seven: Press Conference Misconduct, Mission Brief, Training Outline, Mission Preparations”, always a man for long titles. Straight to the point and concise about itinerary.

Alex opened his mouth to tell Thomas, but the man was slamming drawers still. 

“We don’t sleep together. That was part of the agreement.  _ You  _ broke it.” This time, Alex turned his face from his phone to the closed door at the whiff of an accusation, at the irritation he had just experienced with his battle of the words on the screen. He scowled.   
“ _ I  _ broke it? How the fuck did  _ I  _ break anything?”

“You fell asleep in my bed, you fucking asshole.”   
“And you brought me there, you fucking hypocrite.” Alexander clapped back with a sneer, still looking over there when the door flung open and banged against the wall on the inside. Thomas towered in the doorway, fully dressed in uniform in record time minus the jacket. Alex gave his body one good sweep, suddenly remembering that it felt like an eternity since the man had actually been  _ inside  _ him. Thomas’s scowl intensified on seeing Alex mentally undress him. 

“Hey.  _ Hey _ .” he barked harshly, snapping Alex’s attention back, raising his voice, “Whatever you’re thinking, cut it the fuck out. Okay, this isn’t a game.” he gestured frustratedly with his hands at Alexander, who held his chin high, not breaking. 

“I don’t want to ever wake up next to you again, you hear me? I don’t want you in my bed.” Alex yanked the covers off his legs and sat up straight.   
“Really. Cause it seems like you wanted me there two nights ago when you were ploughing my  _ fucking  _ asshole.” he spat bitingly, fighting fire with fire. The taller one twitched, a ticking movement like for a split second he was going to lunge at Alexander and split his jaw, but he only inhaled a deep breath as his lip twitched in fury. Alex looked at him and scoffed, shaking his head as he slid out of the other side of the bed. 

“Whatever, Thomas. Yell at me every time we’re gonna fall asleep together. Jokes on you: I like it when you’re mad.” he laughed condescendingly like an obnoxious jerk, pacing away into Thomas’s bathroom. 

“We’re not falling asleep in the same room.  _ Ever again _ \--a nd where the fuck do you think you’re going?”   
“To get my clothes you stripped off my naked body. Ring a bell?” Alexander sneered, tossing a glance over his shoulder before he disappeared. 

Thomas hadn’t seen his legs yet, but right about now he needed to see the brat’s blemishes because he’d woken up three minutes ago and they were already at each other’s throats. Thomas growled and strode after Alexander. He had one night of peace from the boy, and they were back at the start of his bitchass attitude like he’d clicked refresh without saving his work. This was going to be a long morning if he didn’t put the foot down ASAP. 

“What?” Alexander stood over his pile of clothes on the sink counter and looked up grumpily at Thomas, “Wanted to see a little more of this before we head out?” he questioned, gesturing with his eyes down to his own mostly bare body. Thomas pursed his lips.    
“This is my bathroom. I came in here for everything but you.” he shook his head, breezing past Alexander to the other sink on the sleek, long modern counter where all his stuff was. Alex ignored his comment, as he tucked his phone on top of the pile and observed it like a critic, all of his disgruntledness evaporating. 

“Wow, Jefferson. Folding my clothes like a pro; I’m impressed.” he laughed, giving Thomas an unreciprocated glance in the mirror. He smirked slowly. 

“Didn’t know you cared.” There was a pause in dialogue as Thomas pulled open a cabinet to pull down a shiny black comb.   
“I don’t.”   
“Aw.” Alex tutted, stepping up beside him as the man ran a comb through his black hair, slicking it back, “Wanna make me breakfast too? You’ve always been a good cook...” he hummed, closing his eyes and leaning into Thomas for a kiss. 

In a whirling rush of movement, Alexander felt Thomas wrap his left arm around his head to clench his hair painfully, and the other hand dexterously spin the comb upside down, press a notch, and…   
Thomas’s eyes glinted as a knife blade unsheathed from the hilt of the comb with a ringing metal note, and he flicked it up to press the non serrated edge on Alexander’s throat, right up under his chin. The hurricane of movement settled into utter stillness. Now this… this was a pleasant little surprise to the teenager.

For a moment, both were statues, awaiting the next move. Alex panted heavily, bare chest rising and falling for breath. Thomas stood still, fully clothed, looming over the boy with his head held up high by his cruel grip on his hair and the knife at his throat. And yet, of course, Alexander was smiling ear to ear. Why wasn’t Thomas surprised? How did they always seem to end up here?

The boy licked his lips with a tiny laugh and craned his eyes down at the beautiful blade, “That’s a new one, Jefferson.” were his only words as Thomas hummed deeply and nodded slowly in agreement.

“Switchblade comb. Not new, Alexander, a classic.” he rumbled deeply, “a favorite of our mobster friends, as you’d recall.”   
“I would.” Alex responded cunningly, despite it all, inching closer to Thomas. The taller man huffed and rotated the knife up so that the tip was pressing under his chin, stinging and pointed at his most delicate area. Their eyes locked, hazel and black as Thomas traced the tip slowly up Alex’s chin in a straight line, giving him an odd tingling sensation of freezing metal on his skin. Alexander twitched a provocative brow. 

“If you’re trying to  _ scare  _ me, Thomas, I’m afraid that would be futile.” His words were cut off when Thomas pressed the cold flat of the blade to his sensitive, beautiful lips, silencing his words.   
“Shhh…” Thomas hushed him gently, cocking his head to look down on the boy. Alex swallowed. Now he was being submissive for him again. Of course, Thomas had no plan on earth of physically harming him in this way, only to whip him into shape with the dominance he knew best. It was rare with his other subs that he got the privilege of this level of kinkiness, and a subconscious part of him knew that he was  _ relishing  _ the opportunity.

The driver slowly let go his grip on Alex’s tangled hair and slid his hand down to wrap warmly and firmly around the back of his neck.    
“I am well aware that knives… get you hot.” he responded to Alexander’s statement coolly, just to watch the kit swallow. Thomas twitched a brow right back at him with a straight face, a taste of his own medicine, “but that looked a little skittish to me, Allie.” he nodded, reveling in his power.

Alex’s eyes were a plethora of arousal, fury, and intrigue. 

They widened abruptly when Thomas, without warning, jerked him forward to press the flat of the blade to Alex’s lower belly and held the kid’s head right up next to his lips so that he was breathing directly against his ear. Alex’s heart lurched with the movement, his chest fluttering now directly against the fabric of Thomas’s shirt. He could feel his deep, slow heartbeat. 

Holy shit, Thomas wasn’t fucking around now that he had full rein for discipline. This was fucking amazing. 

“We’re going to have a good day today, Alexander; that means obedience from you, remembering your discipline from last night, understood?” he whispered with lethal quietness, making the boy shiver. The icy coldness of the blade on his skin made his belly twitch, bruising against the fabric of Thomas’s clothes. Thomas didn’t wait for an answer before continuing.    
“In training. In our meeting with the Director, and when we get home. Obedience. Modesty.” he listed, “And I know about this sick fetish of yours, but I don’t care. If it keeps you in check like this, I don’t give a fuck if I have to put a knife to your throat to get you to behave and call me daddy, understood?” he repeated, and he felt Alex’s sweet-smelling hair brush his cheek as the boy nodded 

“In that case, my response is, ‘yes, daddy’.” Alex purred cunningly, “God, Thomas, you’re such a fucking sadist--”   
“Shut up.” Thomas hissed into his ear, never pulling back as he pressed the flat of the knife harder to his belly, not the blade so there was no chance of cutting him by accident. Still, Alexander tightened against it with a smile, giddy. 

“Now.” he whispered coolly, completely in control, “Get dressed the second I let you go, and we won’t have ourselves a problem. We’ll have breakfast and head downstairs like civilized gentlemen, yes? Because that’s what we are, aren’t we, Agent Hamilton?”   
“Of course, sir. True, refined gentlemen.” Alexander spoke charmingly in agreement with elegant poise. Both of them were impossibly stubborn, standing like aristocrats but behaving like savages. All with prestige. Alex felt Thomas nod.

“That’s what I thought.” he grunted his response, drawing closer so that his lips brushed Alex’s ear with his next words, “How about a kiss under  _ my  _ terms, hm?” he toyed lightly, drawing away from his ear. Alex’s lips curled into a malicious smirk. 

“On your terms.” he echoed, finding Thomas’s eyes as the man pulled back to look in his face, dark eyes sweeping his features. Thomas exhaled deeply, coolly, and dragged the unsharpened side of the knife up Alex’s belly and chest, bitingly chilly until he was at his throat again. He pressed it there, keeping Alex’s posture. 

“Open your mouth. Don’t even fucking think of straying from my lead.” he warned darkly, tightening the hand behind Alex’s head as he pulled him closer. Thomas watched Alex part his lips for him, and his own twitched into a grin. He was learning--slowly but surely. 

Knife still to his throat, Thomas made sure both their eyes were still open as he took Alex’s bottom lip between his teeth and gave it a gentle bite and tug, pulling it. Their eyes were all they could see, a universe of ebony and warm hazel. Thomas finally pushed down the lip and licked into his mouth, lapping over his tongue and flicking it hotly over Alex’s before opening wider and then closing with a wet sound. Alex exhaled quietly, itching to hop up on the sink and continue, but he remembered his orders. Thomas concluded, pulling away from the single, hot kiss. Alex blinked his eyes open and shook his head, their faces an inch away. 

“I don’t like you, Jefferson.” he spoke with an air of elegance; their breath mingled between their lips, “I don’t think I ever will.”   
“And now we agree on something.” Thomas huffed a laugh through his nose, stroking a thumb down the back of Alex’s neck as he slowly lowered the knife from his throat. But Thomas paused. 

Alex’s gaze darted from one dark eye to the other as Thomas’s brows flicked down for a moment. He stroked his thumb again. 

“What’s on the back of your neck?” he squinted, stepping forward to turn Alex around, but the boy stepped back gracefully with a cocked head. 

Alexander thought quickly on his feet, “Just an old remnant; I had a terrible case of Chokondis when I was younger.” he smiled, slapping a hand down on his clothes and lifting the stack into his arms. Thomas made a face and gave him a dirty look. 

“What the fuck is Chokondis?” he scoffed, watching Alexander step barefoot out of his bathroom. 

“Chokondis cock, Jefferson.” Alex laughed and strolled casually away. Thomas pursed his lips in utter hopelessness.

“See you at breakfast. And I’m forwarding you the email I got from Cherry Tree on our meeting time. Just a fair warning, he’s  _ mad _ .” Alex called, muffled out in the bedroom. Thomas huffed.   
“I already got it, seeing as we’re  _ paired agents _ .” he spoke as if to a five year old, and then there was silence. Thomas exhaled an exhausted sigh and rubbed his eyes, thinking  _ this is exactly why I don’t fuck teengagers _ .

As he turned back to his mirror and sheathed the switchblade comb. He met his own eyes, making a mental note to bring the weapon when they were hitting the motels in four days. Neither agent minded working on a Saturday; their work schedule at the bureau had never revolved around a weekday schedule, but Alexander had trouble adjusting since he was fresh out of high school, not even.

Thomas opened a cabinet and selected his usual cologne, lifting each arm to spray it. He knew he’d felt some sort of disturbance, wiry like yarn but smooth on the back of Alex’s neck. Now that he thought about it, had he ever really seen the back of his neck? He had such long hair, only a scant inch and a half above reaching his shoulders. And Alexander Hamilton never did anything without a strategy behind it. Odd, he thought… odd.

  


* * *

“Xander, pick up the pace.” Lafayette called vociferously, glancing down at his stopwatch as Thomas streaked by him with a gust of wind and thunder of soles. Alexander huffed, touching the final cone, muscles bunching up under him as he dug his feet in the turf and changed direction on a dime, bursting right back into full-on sprint towards Lafayette. His arms pumped, his legs charging and glistening with sweat as he passed. 

Lafayette clicked the button on his stopwatch and tutted as Alex thundered to a gradual stop past the line. 

“Three and a half seconds behind Jefferson, Hamilton.” Lafayette turned slowly to face the boys with a raised eyebrow. Alexander stood with his hands on his knees, gasping for breath. His sweaty hair hung around his red face. Thomas was panting like a dog as well, pacing slowly in a cirlcle to lower his heart rate gradually and taking tiny sips from his water bottle. Alex sputtered, sweat drenching the front of his shirt and dripping from his chin and down his legs. He had to say… salty sweat on whiplashes was  _ not  _ a good feeling.

  
“How about we… perhaps take into account… my tiny… tiny… legs.” he panted between heaving breaths, “Usain Bolt over there has…ten inches on me.” he gulped, standing up straight with a huge exhale from puffed cheeks. He placed his hands on his hips and grimaced, pacing a bit like Thomas. Lafayette just rolled his eyes.   
“Ah yes, of course.” he spoke sarcastically, tucking his timer into his pocket, “And I will shoot an email to the American mafia saying to chase you three and a half seconds slower.” 

“I dunno, maybe some mobsters have common decency, unlike your ass.”   
“Oh, I go far beyond indecency, Xander. Back to the line.” Lafayette pointed, and Alex winced, squinting with gritted teeth and casting a glance over to Thomas.   
“Wait, how come Forrest Gump got a drink.”   
“Because  _ he  _ is not whining.”

“Whining.”   
“Oh, cease the incessant banter and get on the line. Toma, by his side.” Lafs beckoned, pulling out his pocket watch to reset it and step out of the way, “Last set.”

Alex caught his breath, positively drenched in his own sweat. They’d done strength training all morning after some car drills for Thomas, everything from weights to battle ropes. The driver still refused to use the Nightcrawler during training, and both he and Alexander were beginning to yearn for that enthralling vehicle, but Thomas wouldn't budge. Anyone could see that she was not a truck made for dusty training tracks; she was a work of art, beautiful and dangerous, made for the field. 

For  _ real  _ car chases.

As for Lafayette, he knew his job and his trainees incredibly well, as always. Practically every set of their exercises was a competition between the rivals; that was what got their blood and adrenaline pumping. Neither of them could  _ help  _ the insatiable need to better each other at everything, and Lafayette was content with this--watching them head-off over and over again.

Lunch break had passed quickly, with Thomas heading off to meet James, so Alex went to John’s place, gorged himself, and immediately collapsed out-cold on his couch for an hour. Now, the trio was back up in the gym on the turf doing progressive cone touches: first cone and back to the start, second cone, back to the start, and like so up until four. 

“Almost done, last one, boys. Then you can go have a nice little chat with Washington. Prêt?” 

“Looking forward to it...” Alex responded, crouching down at the line with one leg forward, slipping on his own sweat. They had both worn shorts today, as per Lafayette’s request, and Alexander basically looked like he had gone down, knees first, onto rock-solid concrete after a failed front flip. His shorts showed an inch above his knee, and even then, the purple, blue and pink tips of whiplashes were visible. Not to mention the throat and jawline hickeys made him look like a mugging victim. Thomas had barely gotten  _ started  _ and Alex was marked up like property. 

Alex saw Thomas’s calves step up to him, and with a rustle of fabric and huff of breath, Thomas lowered himself a foot away. It didn’t seem fair that Alex should be held to the same standards as this beast, but on the other hand, for the good of his own safety, he should be able to run the same speed as his partner when it came to a life and death situation. A bead of sweat dripped from Alex’s chin, and he shook it off. 

“Lafayette gets me sweating harder than you do, Thomas.” he spoke playfully, and Thomas kept his eyes straight ahead, not sparing him a glance. They hadn’t talked a lot since their little moment in the bathroom, and Alex was trying to spur up conversation. Again. Thomas still seemed pissed off and distant because they’d woken up together, which didn’t settle right in his gut, Alexander could read. 

“If you want me to make you run sprints in bed, I can have that arranged.” he grumbled in return, and Alexander snickered. He cast a look over his shoulder to see if Lafayette was approaching yet, and looked back over at Thomas, an idea growing in his mind. 

“Thomas, you know I have a thing for games. Playing with high stakes. Yes?” Alex reminded lightly. Thomas adjusted his grip on the turf, still not looking at him. 

“I do.”    
“Then how about a wager?” he spoke temptingly, cunning mischief in his eyes. Thomas flicked him a glance, neutral and unexpressive.

“Ah, come on, Tommy. Just for practice.” Alex coaxed, referring to the mob’s love of gambling, wagers, and bets that they often had to partake in on missions. 

“What are the stakes?” he drawled curiously with no intention of entering. Alex grinned. 

“If you beat me at the drill, I do anything you like for the rest of the night. Your wish is my command. All night.” He waited coolly for the driver’s reaction, and received. This got Thomas’s attention alright. The man finally turned his face, beading with sweat, to look across at Alex; the kid still panted, hair striking to his neck. 

“And if you win?” he rumbled deeply.   
Alex’s lips curled into a malevolent smirk, “If I win,” he echoed, tossing his head back at Lafayette, “You go up to Frenchie and tell him about your little issue with him.” Thomas’s eyes darkened, “While I watch.” Alex added, “You’re gonna have to eventually, Thomas. That or there’s gonna be blood between you. Of course, I don’t mind when it’s not my blood on the line.” They still stared at each other when Lafayette towered over them, Alexander no longer able to go off on his mind game tangent.

“Ready?”    
Thomas cocked his head for a moment at Alex, who copied, “I am.” Thomas answered stiffly to the Frenchman who he had been chilly too all day, huffing into position and shifting his body. Alex could see the muscles in Thomas’s legs rippling, bunching up under his skin with raw power. Lafayette, completely oblivious to what had just happened between them, glanced from his trainees to his stopwatch, thumb on the start. Alexander couldn’t help but smile. God, this feeling was sorely missed when he was… away. 

“On ‘go’. Three, two, one,” he clicked the timer, “go.” Alexander and Thomas  _ bolted  _ off from their places with an invigorated bust of speed. Their rubber soles crunched in the plastic turf, hearts pumping adrenaline, lungs puffing for air. The first cone, Alexander’s agility due to his lack of size gave him the lead. He was lower to the ground, easier for him to touch it and jet back off with a spray of black crumb rubber. Blood roaring, they met eyes back at the starting cone, facing each other. Alex gave Thomas a condescending grin as he pushed off a half second before him, taking the lead.

“Very good, Xander, keep it up.” Lafayette called in a raised tone, watching this unwarranted burst of energy as the two streaked away to the third cone with pounding feet. A couple of people who were on the sidelines using the other machines sat up and wiped their faces with sweat cloths or took a drink to watch. Alex hit another burst of speed coming back from the third cone, just a second quicker than Thomas. He gave him a grin when their eyes met once again, and Thomas screwed up his lips. Alex was all speed and agility; he was strength and rock-hard muscle. But today, he was going to beat Alexander at his own game. The stakes were, as the boy had put it, high. 

“Scared, Jefferson?” Alexander grunted and huffed, touching the last cone and taking off on the straight. Thomas put his head down, dug his gripped soles on the turf and bolted full steam ahead. This was where he could beat him. No agility, no dancing, just a linear home run in which being six-foot-five was going to pay off. 

Puffing, legs pumping, Alex’s head jerked to the side when Thomas became even with him, gave him a “fuck you” look, and streaked by right as they crossed the staring cone. 

“Well done, well done!” Lafayette clicked the timer and turned as Alex ran across the line an inch behind Thomas, feet thundering and slapping on the turf. 

“Record time for both of you. Well done.” Lafayette repeated zealously, but the boys hardly even heard. Thomas had turned around and was running backwards right in front of Alexander with an uncharacteristically cheerful grin on his face. There was a mocking spring in Thomas’s step as they both slowed down, and Alex groaned rolling his head back so his soaked, dark hair brushed his back. 

“Fuck yourself with a meat grinder--” but his voice was cut off as he tripped over the front of his left shoe and careened forward. 

“Woah, woah.” Thomas laughed and caught him just as he smacked into his body with his hands out. Alex’s fingers slipped on Thomas’s slick biceps as he caught him, flexing to hold him up and put him back on his feet, but Alex just kept pressing and pushing him backwards. 

“I hate you. The odds were stacked; this is unjust treatment.”   
“Cry yourself a river, Hamilton.” Thomas laughed out loud and tensed his abs as Alex landed weak little punches on them, “Looks like someone’s waiting on my hand and foot tonight, Allie.” he lowered his voice to jeer.

Finally. He was in a good mood. Both of them were still panting, chests and bellies heaving against one another, the warm, damp fabric of dri-fit shirts pressing together in a borderline-gross manner when Alex turned his face up to Thomas. He laughed breathily, with a grin on his lips and tossed the hair out of his face. Thomas gazed down at his hazel eyes and huffed rhythmically before he swallowed. His heart fluttered. 

Just for a moment…

perhaps it was the adrenaline and pressure and euphoria… but he had a violent and terrifying urge to… kiss him in front of everyone who was watching. And not even a lusty, dirty kiss--his body wanted to wrap him up despite the grime and press his lips against his. Lafayette’s words cut off the thought and curtailed the moment abruptly. 

“ _ Mes frères, bon travail. _ ” he purred, clapping his tape-wrapped hands with his clipboard tucked up under his arm. He sauntered slowly up to them as they awkwardly broke apart. Thomas coughed lightly and Alex scratched the back of his neck, coming down front his tiptoes and turned to his instructor. 

Lafayette stopped and parted his feet, standing tall before them as he flipped out his clipboard and scrawled down their numbers into a chart. Alex’s lips twitched, trying to recover from that dazy second that was certainly… not something he’d planned. A moment.    
“That’s got to be the most primitive thing I’ve seen in my life.” he shook his head, trying to distract himself off the subject as Lafayette clicked the pen and tucked it back under the paper. He dished him a warning look, but Alex went on, “I mean, what’re you gonna do, fax us the results?” 

“It’s character-building to pick up a pen, Agent Hamilton. Perhaps you should try it.” Lafayette’s voice was casual, but as Thomas cast a glance down to Alex, he saw a flicker of fury flash through his eyes before fading back to witty charm. 

“I do, sir.” Alex raised his chin, “To sign billion dollar contracts.” Lafayette scratched his ear and chuckled, looking around at the people returning to their workouts after the show. Thomas sniffed and bent down to tie his shoe. 

“Always a modest one, Xander.”    
“Always.”   
“Well.” he smiled tightly and tossed his chin, lifting up briefly onto the balls of his feet as he curtly tucked the clipboard back under his arm, “Good work today, boys. I have a boxing match to get to.” he gestured to his taped knuckles with his eyes, “You could attend if you have no obligations.”

“He’s busy.” Thomas cut in from down below the group before Lafayette had even finished his sentence. The man blinked, turning his blue gaze down to Thomas for further information. The blonde raised an eyebrow, adjusting his feet on the turf to lengthen his spine as Thomas slowly rose. And rose, and rose until he was towering. Perhaps the sharp rank of rubber, metal weights, and tires was getting both of them riled up and competitive, but Alex wanted to gape. He’d have to step in and save these imbeciles’ asses as per usual, he thought.

“Your briefing conference with Washington is in half an hour, no?” Lafayette questioned in a quieter, more controlled tone. Alex stood by his partner’s side, wondering what in the name of fuck he thought he was doing. Was he just stirring the pot to brew trouble or because he couldn’t help it? 

“Yes.” Thomas shifted his weight and crossed his sweat-beaded arms across his drenched chest. He had two inches on Lafayette, enough to be threatening, “It is. And he’s busy.” 

“Really?” The man pursed his lips and nodded so small it was hardly visible; he seemed to be debating whether to speak his mind, and before Alex could cut in, he did, “Do you speak for him now?” Lafayette inquired with nothing but curiosity, but Alex could sense the passive-aggressive undertone, “is that a new thing you like to do?”

Alex’s mouth went completely dry, and he slowly wiped the sweat off his lip and placed his hands quietly on his hips. Thomas had both of them in deep, deep fucking shit. Neck deep. And he just remained an immovable statue, brooding over his superior. His face was straighter than he’d ever be, a deadpan look like he was already planning his punches.

“He’s right, Lafs, I am busy.” Alex cut in before Thomas got his ass pounded to a pulp. The taller flicked Alex an annoyed look that they boy didn’t bother to return.    
“The agreement was that I do laundry since I moved in, and he won’t let me out of it.” Alex pursed his lips perfectly, hitting just right with the desired effect, “So rain check, my friend.”   
“Indeed.” Lafayette responded tersely, eyes still locked on Thomas, and vice versa. There was no turning back; the battle between these two was imminent, but Alexander had confidence that Thomas would get out now before it got too dicy. 

“If you’ll excuse us.”   
“ _ Vous êtes excusé _ .” 

“Thank you.” Thomas replied coldly, voice void of emotion as he finally stepped to the side, away from Alexander to swipe his water bottle off the bench. He snagged the taut strap of Alex’s gym back and tossed it over to him, who caught it with a rustle. 

“You. Let’s go.” He grunted, tossing his head at Alex, who gave Lafayette an innocent shrug. 

“When duty calls.” he spoke apologetically, “Call me later when you wanna hang, and I’ll find a way to get away from dickhead.” he grinned, and Lafayette tried to return it tightly. Luckily, Thomas hadn’t heard Alex’s little remark, as he took a swig from his bottle and wiped his mouth. 

“You deaf?”   
“Only to you, Jefferson.” Alex smiled gorgeously up to him and slung his bag over his shoulder, adjusting the strap. Thomas gave him a  _ look _ .   
  


* * *

“When I said…’do whatever you wanted’... I imagined something different.”   
“Don’t care. Didn’t ask.” Thomas called over his shoulder, primping his hair around his ears in the mirror. He squinted to catch a glance of Alex before returning to his task, “Don’t slack on the corners.” he remarked. Alexander huffed, collapsing on the mattress and rolling onto his back. He let his head fall to the side to look at Thomas in the closet. 

“I’m going to rub my sweat all over your thousand dollar sheets. Just to spite you.”   
“Do it. You can hand wash them when you’re done.”

Alex looked to the ceiling and stayed starfished on the bed, still in his gym clothes and physically drained as he was supposed to be making Thomas’s bed for him. He’d imagined a bit more chains and leather than this, but Thomas seemed to have found a more painful way to torture him. Manual labor. 

“You want me in a cute little maid costume for you too?” Alex complained, catching his breath, “All your terrifying kinks are actually compensating for a chronic femboy maid fetish; I can feel it.” Thomas didn’t even respond to that one, which was fair. Alex rubbed a hand slowly down his face, squeezing his eyes shut. 

“Why do you have so many pillows? You don’t use them. Nobody uses them. They serve no purpose.” his voice was muffled behind his hand. Thomas shrugged on his suit jacket over his shoulders and shuffled, settling comfortably inside as he turned to face Alex.

“Neither do those ridiculous firearms you nailed in my walls, but here we fucking are.” Thomas finally sneered, jerking and buttoning his suit cuff with a rustling noise in front of his mirror in the closet. Alexander mocked his voice quietly in a high pitched I’d-like-to-speak-to-the-manager tone and Thomas elegantly placed his hands on his hips. He tapped a finger and pursed his lips, raising his eyebrows expectantly.

“Something to say?” he blinked, giving Alex the floor. The kid released an exasperated sigh, drawn out five long seconds until he was finished and rolled to his stomach like it was the hardest thing he’d ever done. 

“Yeah. Eat my ass.” he grumbled, lifting to his hands and knees to snag a pillow and throw it in place around the other ones, all shades of silver and black satin. Thomas leaned in the doorframe and watched him struggle to do something he’d rather go a week without sex than do. For Alexander, that was equal to a week without food. 

When he had finally put the last one in place, he wiped the back of his hand across his cheek and leaned back to sit on his heels and observe his handiwork. 

“So is this a digging-my-own-grave sort of thing?” he inquired curiously, looking at the pillows he’d half-assedly arranged, “Making the bed you’re gonna drill me in tonight?”

Thomas kept a straight face, didn’t even shrug as he gave Alex a dark look, “Don’t hold your breath, Hamilton.” Thomas spoke evenly, leaning into the frame to push off it and stand straight, “I was thinking of not touching you for another day. Just to let last night sink in.” he drawled boredly on a sigh, stepping past Alex who tracked his movement with his head.    
“You’re joking. That’s a joke.” Alex scoffed a laugh, but his face fell when Thomas just kept walking by towards the door. He placed his feet on the floor, readying to follow the man, “Tell me you’re joking, Thomas--”

“We’ll see.” Thomas shrugged nonchalantly, disappearing out the door. Alexander bent over to pick up his phone off the carpet and jog after him, hand on the frame to patter onto the hardwood with bare feet. Thomas was tapping something in his phone with one hand, turning into the kitchen to open the fridge. Alexander swung up into a chair at the kitchen island and watched the man sniff, tuck his phone into his pocket and scan the contents. 

Alex daintily smoothed his drying hair back and quietly folded his arms on the chilly granite counter. For a few moments, he just analyzed Thomas with his warm, hazel eyes, referencing the man’s baseline and calculating him like an arithmetic problem. He had always been rather skilled at arithmetic. He sat up straight. 

“Are you mad at me, Thomas?” He spoke coolly, sophisticatedly. Thomas gave him a slow look so sharp it could slice titanium over his shoulder as he closed the fridge door. There was a moment of silence as he stepped away from it to stop at the corner of the countertops.

“Always.”   
“Mmm…” Alex hummed giving the mood another moment to settle in before he slid forward on his chair, “Yes. And you seem particularly bothered.” 

“I wonder why that is.” Thomas grumbled, tossing his phone onto the counter and reaching up to open a cabinet over his head. Alex shrugged with a considerate frown as Thomas lifted down a single Clif Bar.   
“You could tell me.” Alex suggested lightly, “After all, I’ll never correct my behavior if I am unaware.” he grinned with a suggestive expression, but retained his elegant manner. Thomas tore open the plastic and peeled it down, obviously not amused. 

“Kissing my ass, Alex? Sunk that low?”    
The boy huffed a tiny laugh through his nose with a widening smirk, “Trying to figure out why you’re being one.”   
“Oh, you know why I’m not fucking happy with you right now.” 

Alexander was taken aback.

Thomas’s words were suddenly sharp, straight to the point, and brutally harsh. However, if anyone was trained to keep their guard up during the unexpected, it was the sniper. He only held his face completely still, allowing Thomas to take the lead. That’s what he wanted so that in a backwards way, he was in charge the whole time. Thomas tore a chunk out of his bar and chewed, pointing at Alex aggressively. 

“You know. You just want to manipulate me into saying it so you can feel special not like the pathetic bag of shit you are.”   
Alex opened his hands a bit, still crossed on the table, “Oh, am I?”

“You are. And you know it.” Thomas sneered, shaking his head and swinging the cabinet closed with a bit more force than was warranted before striding over to pick up his water glass from the morning and refill. Alexander licked his lips. 

“So you’re still mad that you actually woke up next to someone you fuck with, yes?” he filled in the blanks for the stubborn man, nodding, “Still burning up that you didn’t kick out your human fleshlight like an inanimate piece of fuckmeat? Actually gave a shit?” He saw Thomas set the water glass slowly back down on the table with a tiny “clink” and placed his hands on the counter, watched as the back of the man’s suit expanded and retracted with livid breaths. His fingers silently curled into fists.

It was already happening, his temper slowly rising to a boil. 

Alex checked out his nails, “Still holding a grudge against your own humanity. How dare it let you fall asleep like the living person you are.” Before his words were finished, Thomas had already had enough.    
“No. Alexander.” Thomas spat loudly, whirling around to face him. The flaps of his suit whipped with the sudden movement as he took one huge stride up to the island and pointed at Alex, abandoning his water and his snack. The kid lifted his eyes slowly from his nails as if he was indifferent to the bitterness.   
“I’m mad because I woke up next to  _ you _ .” he spat the word, screwing up his lips, “ _ You _ are the problem.”

“Hm.” Alex flicked his brows down curiously, “as I recall, you don’t sleep with any of your boy toys.”   
“Exactly.” Thomas snarled, baring his teeth, “how does that help your  _ fucking _ case?” 

“Because,” Alex instinctively wanted to lean back in his seat, but remembered that these were modern stools. He tilted his head instead. 

“I want to know why that  _ really  _ makes you mad. Why…” he leaned in closer to Thomas over the counter, “me?” he finished. 

“Why you.” Thomas whispered the echo, lip twitching in silent rage. Alex just nodded in his face, leaning down on his crossed arms at a crawling pace, too slow for comprehension of the furious man. 

“Why would you accidentally let yourself fall asleep with the _one_ man you like to hold a gun to?” Thomas placed both hands carefully on the island’s edge, far apart to lean in just an inch.

“That is your habit, Hamilton.” Thomas breathed, spitting, “ _ not  _ mine.”   
“Mm.” Alex grunted, bobbing his head along with the words, “My dirty little habit.” he inhaled, looking up directly into Thomas’s eyes while lifting his arms and replacing them just a bit closer, shuffling his hips in his seat.

“Let me paint a pretty little picture for you. You. Me. This morning. Knife to my throat and licking in my mouth like thousand dollar, sex-flavored creme brulee.” Alex shook his head slowly, tauntingly, “Don’t pull ‘Alexander the Psychopath’ bullshit on me, Thomas. You’re not looking like such a fucking  _ saint _ yourself.” Those eyes were roiling, churning like black stormy waters as Alexander talked circles around him. And every word was a truth. 

The kid didn’t relent.

“And you didn’t answer my question.” Alexander kept him on topic, not allowing him to stray in the way that Alexander absolutely would if the positions were switched, “There’s a reason you fell asleep with me, isn’t there?” Thomas’s brows shadowed his even darker eyes with rage. He saw the vision flashing in his head once again, branded in the front of his mind. How for that fleeting moment the dark head of hair, the silhouetted frame. He had been Randolph. For a glimpse, he had brought Randolph back, allowed Thomas to lay with him for just a moment more. Thomas parted his lips to speak, but Alex cut him off. 

“Denial?” he raised a brow, “Please, Thomas. You insult me.” he whispered, peering up into that face. Alex lifted a finger just an inch to twirl a circle, gesturing at his own.    
“Everything you’re thinking. It’s all inside my head.” he spoke, shaking his head slowly. Thomas’s chest rose and fell against his white shirt. Rage, yet Alexander persisted. 

“I can see it in your eyes. Trying to hate me. Trying to loathe me, and,” he shrugged lightly, “you can’t.” his eyes glinted with impeccable intelligence, “I can read your  _ mind _ , Jefferson. Don’t...  _ ever _ forget that.” Alex spoke slowly, and both knew that it was a light threat. A warning. Alex cocked his head.

“Now. Would you like to tell me what’s bothering you, Mr. Jefferson? Was it that we had a… moment?” his voice was high, cool, barely even a whisper. Thomas stayed utterly still, watching the kid rub him psychologically raw, “After all…” he looked down to the table before looking up from beneath his brow with his golden eyes, “Best friends. Often confide in one another.”

For a full minute, neither moved. Neither dared. Thomas was intent on gaining back his control, and he wasn’t going to surrender his gaze to his enemy. The tension was thicker than tar, and it choked the stubborn pair. Alexander just said that they'd had a moment. Starkly, nakedly. As the seconds dragged on, Thomas finally spoke. 

“I’m sure they do, Alexander.” was his only offered response on the matter, once again reinforcing the obvious, “You  _ forfeit  _ your right to that title. You did a long time ago. And we didn’t have a ‘ _ moment’ _ .” was his final remark, although his last bit was a little… unconvincing to the reader of micro expressions. 

Frustrated at being readable no matter his efforts, he lifted a hand, not having to go far to curl it up under the neck of Alex’s shirt, still a bit damp against his skin. Alex twitched both brows momentarily, eyes trained on Thomas.    
“Don’t get too feisty now. We have ourselves a conference to attend.” Alex cocked his head coolly, and Thomas pulled him a little closer with a glare icier than Everest itself.

“I’m well aware. We also made a deal. You do my bidding for the night.” he closed the fabric into a fist, “understood?”   
Alex swallowed, his young face so beautiful despite his defiant expression. He tilted his chin up to nod. He was a snake, but he was rarely one to go back on a promise. He nodded, and Thomas copied, slower. 

“Then listen to me very closely and we won’t have a problem.” he dictated clearly, “You will go to your room. You will take a shower, you will dress yourself in your finest suit, and you will not speak to me or come into my  _ sight _ until 6:48 precisely, at which point you will be sitting on the couch,” he gestured with his eyes, “with a briefcase waiting to leave for Washington’s office.” 

Alex inhaled deeply, the tendon on his neck popping. Thomas gave his lips a glance, unable to help it, “He didn’t tell you this because it was between the adults, but we get the file today. The case file. Schuyler’s case file.” Even Alex couldn’t stifle the flicker of shocked intrigue passing through his eyes. In the twitch of his smile.

“So you will think long and hard for the twenty minutes you have to yourself. Long and hard about your priorities.”   
“And what are those?”   
Thomas bobbed his head side to side just once, regarding him, “That’s yours to figure out. See that you do.” he let go of Alexander, breaking the unbearable tension between the two of them.    
“Think of what you’re going to say about your little furor yesterday, because you bet your ass that’s going to be a topic. And on a final note, I have a little gift for you to wear to the conference.”

Alex paused, caught off guard. Oh?

His lips split into a cunning smile, focusing on Thomas’s last little comment.    
“For me?” Alex leaned back into a sitting position to cross his arms over his chest. He bit his lip, “I’m flattered.”

“Don’t fucking talk yourself up, Hamilton.” Thomas scoffed, picking back up the Clif Bar that his stomach was rumbling for, “It’s natural for a Dom to spoil their sub occasionally. Not like you deserve it.”   
“Well.” Alex swiveled in the chair and placed his legs back on the floor, allowing the shorts to fall down over his destroyed thighs, “Consider me interested, King Henry.” Thomas didn’t reflect his good mood, still stuck on their disconcerting conversation. 

“Consider yourself on probation, kid, because you’re on thin fucking ice with me.” Thomas chewed, taking a sip of his water and keeping his eyes on Alex. The boy slid his phone down off the counter and made to walk away. 

This was interesting, Alexander pondered lightly as he stepped away into the center of the space towards the stairs. Of course, he was well aware that they would speak on the subject of his misconduct at the press conference and of the details of their upcoming mission. What he didn’t know was that they would get the case file  _ tonight _ , the file that even Washington himself did not have jurisdiction to view, the one that no one had ever seen save for Agent Schuyler herself. Alex’s mind was already chugging at a thousand miles an hour, piecing together how to act, precisely what to say. But his thoughts were up to an abrupt end by the deep voice behind him. 

“And Alexander.” Thomas spoke clearer in his usual authoritative-casual tone, if that was a thing that could exist. Alex stopped and turned around to face him. The man set down his water glass and leaned against the island slowly, placing one elbow up on it so his suit hung away from his body. He looked so casual, like he should be dangling a glass of scottish whiskey from his fingertips. But there was something else in his powerful eyes, almost…a hunger. 

“Take your pants off.” he spoke evenly. 

There was a beat of hesitation before Alex responded. What the fuck? He blinked incredulously. 

“Excuse me?” he scoffed. There was no time to fuck around with each other--both knew that-- so the driver was up to something else. Thomas raised his chin up in the air, staring down on him from across the room.    
“You heard me. I said take ’em off.” he tore another chunk off his bar, “Now.” 

Alexander didn’t move, eyes darting all over Thomas. He was dead serious about his command. Alex’s heart unwittingly began to thud faster in his chest, pattering against his ribs. His breath quickened inexplicably. Perhaps he was becoming conditioned. Thomas held his head high and peered down on Alex like an object as the boy carefully lifted his hands from his sides and raised the hem of his shirt. He tucked his thumbs under the waistband of his pants at his hips. Thomas raised both brows.    
“Nope.” 

Alex knew what he meant. He licked his lips and dug his thumbs under the band of his boxer briefs too. Thomas dipped his head half an inch in approval. Alex inhaled and looked to the ceiling. 

“You’re a pervert.” he bobbed his head in decision as he slowly bent his knees, struggling to keep his eyes raised to Thomas’s level as he slid the fabric down his legs. Thomas’s eyes glinted when he saw him wince.

“One of us sucked dick on a bathroom floor, Alexander.” he spoke, a deep rumbling purr of content in his chest, “And it wasn’t me.” Alex slid the pants down to his ankles and didn’t hold his shirt up to reveal anything besides his thighs. So this was Thomas’s way of getting back at him for their discussion a minute ago. Humiliation. The boy stood up straight and crossed his arms over his chest, retaining his dignity. He shifted his weight from one bare foot to the other.

“Happy?” he spoke bitterly, and Thomas gave him a warning look and nodded down to his pants. 

“Pick them up.”    
“What?”   
“Pick.” Thomas spoke slower, clearer, “Them. Up.” he ended on a high tone, linking his hands together as he remained leaning lazily against the counter. Alexander parted his lips and shook his head as he stepped once, then twice out of his garments and bent down to pick them up. He balled up the fabric and tucked it under his arm curtly. Thomas kept his eyes on him, sweeping up and down his whipped legs and purple knees. 

“Turn around.” 

“I can’t believe you.”   
“Turn around, Alexander.” His voice was as cool as could be as Alex stepped twice to reveal his perfectly shaped ass, smooth save for the priceless dimple on his left side.  _ Jesus,  _ he wanted to bite it, kiss it. Thomas’s lips twitched into a smirk as he raked it with his eyes, taking in what could surely use some bruising and battering. Perhaps a paddle would do it some good. Food for thought. 

“Now get out of my sight.” he whispered, relishing the sound of his own voice. Alex parted his lips and gave him a glance over his shoulder. 

“Really? Really, Thomas?” Alex scoffed and shook his head with an incredulous smile, walking forth barefoot across the floor. Thomas watched his ass as he walked, firm and so fucking nicely curved. He realized that he hadn’t been inside of Alexander in what felt like decades when it had only been two days, and now looking on that ass, a tiny, quiet part of him was whispering to fuck the meeting, grab those luscious, delectable, young cheeks, and just pound him bent over on the kitchen counter. Could sex drives rub off on people? 

Alexander placed a hand on the metal railing and swung up onto the first step, ass jiggling nicely for Thomas to see; perhaps he was milking it under all of his superficial disapproval.    
“Yes, really. How do those legs feel, huh?” He amused himself, taking another sip of his water around smirking lips. Alex padded up the floating staircase with the slapping sound of naked feet. He smiled down on Thomas from his new heights.

“Sore. Raw.” he listed with a shrug, “Like they should be spread apart by my ears right now.”   
Thomas gave him a deadpan look, “‘Fraid not. Have fun in your timeout.”

“Shut up. ‘Timeout’ doesn’t apply to nineteen year old millionaires.” the voice was muffled, and Alex gave Thomas a middle finger over his shoulder as he disappeared into his room. Thomas took another bite of his bar.    
“That’s exactly what it is.” but his voice was drowned out by the jarring bombardment of blasting No Flockin’ by Kodak Black. Alex yelled apologetically over the racket of base.   
“Sorry. Can’t hear you over the sound of my seven hundred thousand dollar speaker. Both of them.” 

Thomas briefly rubbed his index and thumb under his brows, reminded once again why he would never move in with another person. Especially not a spoiled-rotten, filthy rich teen, yet here he was. 

“6:48. Your ass better be down here.” he barked, raising his voice over the music.    
“Can I wear fucking pants?“ Alex called back. Thomas blinked and pulled open the trash with his foot to throw away his wrapper. He wasn’t responding to that; this conversation was over. He kicked it closed with a hollow sound and made way towards the hallway and his workspace to grab his laptop. 

Despite ultimately achieving his ends and taking control of the situation, Thomas still felt slightly shortchanged, unsatisfied. He tightened his tie up against his throat and stepped down into the lowered space that was his work area at the end of the hall. It resembled what could be a balconied porch if they weren’t underground, but he found the envelopment of virtual windows relaxing. 

He could be anywhere he wanted, anywhere. Inside the Library of Congress (a personal favorite) or the Sistine Chapel. He could be anywhere he pleased at any time, hell, he could do that for the main area of his open-plan apartment anyway. The Ecuadorian tropical rainforest or overlooking Dubai. He could prop his legs up on the couch and peer through the winding cobbled streets of Rauma, Finland or the bustling foot traffic over Wall Street.

Not to mention a full car garage. Thomas had a  _ thirty  _ car garage completely of his own, stacked with Lamborghinis, Ferraris, a Bugatti Chiron 300+, and others he couldn’t count. All these vehicles, all this technology, all of these means of escape at the disposal of his fingertips, and in that moment with Alexander, he had fallen asleep in the one place in the world he _wasn’t_ supposed to be. The one place he shouldn’t have been. 

Yet, thinking back on how it felt, he knew that he’d wanted to be there for some… reason larger than he could understand. There was no denying it, even if he wanted to and even if he absolutely was doing it now. It was beyond him why something as simple as awkward cuddling with ice cream and Netflix had felt oddly… right, especially with his arm around the bane of his existence, his dark nemesis whom he loathed with every fiber of his being. 

Alexander was trying to coax something out of him with those tricky, dangerously skillful fingers of his. Why was the driver on edge, basically baring his teeth and hissing at Lafayette, his own friend? How could he know purely and completely that sleeping with Alexander was wrong, and yet feel nothing but guilt that it had  _ felt right _ , curling his hand around his soft belly and smelling the scent of his hair? 

Thomas curled his fingers under his silver laptop and hiked it up under his arm to bring to his room; he didn’t feel like working there. Not now. As he clicked back down the hall towards his door, he couldn’t shake the feeling. 

Alexander was slowly waiting for Thomas to say something--to do something--that revealed himself. Revealed all of the mixed madness in the driver's head. How he had eaten caramel syrup for Alexander and laughed his ass off, how he had beaten Alex at the drill and taunted him with a grin on his face, catching him when he was about to fall and seeing that look in his eyes like they were back in March 2065 all… over again. 

How he had cradled him close to his body after the boy was long asleep, listening to him breathe. Alexander wanted that. Alexander wanted to methodically torture that out of him until it was in the open; Thomas knew Alexander wanted to see it. To see the weak parts of him, expose them like raw nerves to scalding air and say, “Look at you, Jefferson. Making love to the enemy. You are… weak.” 

Thomas clenched his jaw, yanking open his door. 

That was what Alexander wanted. That was what Alexander was. A living, breathing nightmare. Those little moments where Thomas could…  _ almost  _ overlook everything he knew about the boy, everything that had happened, those moments were only flooded by the black onslaught of horror--Alex whirling around in front of the bathroom mirror, gun in his hand with his head tilted. 

The teenager waiting for Thomas at the gala and wearing his tuxedo jacket, resting Thomas’s glock over his knee in the bed. The flash of madness behind those eyes when he grinned. 

The way he slowly lowered his trademark pistol to his side and stood, chin up as he watched Randolph crumble to the floor at his feet. Those were the moments Thomas couldn’t quite seem to forget. 

And yet, the little moments of unadulterated, effortless joy….They carried as much weight as a hundred moments of pure insanity despite _all_ reason. Could he kid himself for much longer that those had been the moments that stayed with him as he drifted off to sleep, his warm body curled around Alexander’s small frame? Placing a kiss to the top of the boy’s head. 

Thomas tossed his laptop onto the smooth sheets of his bed with a little “poof” sound, and continued to pace aimlessly. The thoughts that he had been holding back were now from and center stage. 

He caught a glimpse of himself in the closet mirror as he passed. A single rectangle of light surrounded by the stifling blackness within the space. For a moment, as he paused his pacing, it seemed as though he existed within that reflection. He existed in that box surrounded by shadow, with the only real object being the bed. The bed that Alexander had made for him. He felt like the only being in existence, the true ventriloquist of the universe, pulling its strings with the decisions all curled around his fingertips. He blinked at himself. So austere, so firm and powerful. 

He was the judge. And defining Alexander on which side of him was the truth and which the lie was up to him. The boy was black and white. A two sided coin, and he had  _ just  _ called out that they had had a moment. It was the truth.

The dilemma that would haunt Thomas, that had been for that long year was now emerging out of the depths of his mind to remind him that it had never been cared for.  Which Alexander was the truth? And which was a gilded lie?

* * *

George Washington stood quietly with his hands behind his back and watched out over the one-way window into the HUB. It was odd, to see a place so bustling with life, with movement and activity and to be so above it, so removed in terms of every sense but sight. He could turn off the one-sidedness of the window as he pleased, but he was expecting someone, so he refrained. Sometimes being a spectator on one’s own creation, neither seen nor heard was a blessing and a welcome one.

Tonight was mostly cloudy with just enough room for the sunset to peek through, the high dome of the HUB was drifting with its own rose and marigold colored indoor cloud system, casting a warm light down on the teeming area of cafes, coffee shops, a library, and public work and gathering spaces. He had designed this aspect so that the impression of outdoors was uncanny, the main path up the center was even cobblestone laden in a manner that wouldn’t break anyone’s ankles, especially any individual wearing heels, and there were glowing streetlights along said path. 

The digital clock displayed above the rows of elevators told him that it was 6:37, and he had been standing there for ten minutes now. Luckily, he was a patient man. Waiting had always been a specialty, a gift to him. His blue eyes reflected the sights down below as he focused on one person and watched their journey through or in, just to pass the time. His mind drifted. 

“George?” 

The man blinked, thoughts skidding to a halt as he started slightly, but turned around coolly nevertheless. When his eyes fell upon who had opened his silent door, his face broke into an unabashed smile. 

“James.” he breathed, immediately abandoning his vigil to stride with purpose up to the man, his soles clicking on the floor of his office. It was nearly a jog as James closed the door behind him, “so sorry I’m late.” And by the time the warden had looked up, his glasses were smashed painfully up against his own nose. 

James made a tiny noise of surprise and lifted his hands as if he was expected to know where to put them and was completely at a loss as George Washington smacked their lips together with utter passion. The man guided James’s hands to rest up high on his shoulders as he let his own slide over the silver suit fabric, down his arms and sides to settle on his hips. He’d liked to have slid them inside his suit, but it was buttoned. 

George breathed deeply against James’s face, holding him close to open and close his lips at an even pace, tasting him like he’d never in his life. James stepped closer and George pulled him up to his body, rocking them both slightly back and forth before he was forced to conclude and pull his face away. He straightened himself back to full height and peered down on James with a smile, his glasses crooked on his nose before he reached up and straightened them at the arm. His cheeks were  _ raging  _ crimson, but there was a modest smile on his face nevertheless.

“What was that for?” he questioned through a helpless grin, eyes still lowered, and George chuckled, leading him deeper into the room by a ghosting touch on his elbow. Their steps echoed in the room as drones flew in and out overhead, delivering messages by paper, the way George preferred. 

“Because I feel like I haven’t seen you in weeks.” he explained, unable to take his eyes off of his new boyfriend. James shrugged.   
“Come now, two days is hardly weeks.” he reminded, and George sighed. 

“Yes, well, I regret not catching you after the Press Conference. I’m afraid I was distraught to say the least.”   
“Distraught.” James huffed an amused laugh, stepping up to a shelf of George’s to observe one of his many, many gadgets and gizmos he kept around the place. 

He sniffed, tracing his fingertip up the reflective chrome side of some contraption, “I would be furious in your position, George. No need to apologize.” he flashed a glance over his shoulder to see George sitting down in his leather chair at his desk and wheel it up to the edge. The man lifted his shoulders in a tired, resigned gesture.

“Luckily, keeping my cool is one of the few talents I possess.”   
“Oh, come off it.” James grinned widely, jumping on an opportunity to spill his fondness for the Director. He turned, stepping slowly towards Washington’s desk, “You are by far the most brilliant, sophisticated, fair-minded, and sexiest man that I know.” his eyes sparkled as he approached the desk, and George found his grin once again.

“Well...I don’t know about that.” The man folded his hands up on the desk as James smiled down, slipping in front of the opposite chair and lowering himself.    
“I do. If you believe you ‘do not have many talents’, there are several... late night endeavors that I can reference on behalf of your skills.” George chuckled, obviously flattered at the words and naughty humor, but as James pulled the chair in, he noticed something was off. 

George darted his tongue over his lips a bit stiffly. James’s brows flicked down, and suddenly the worst came to mind. Was this a business meeting? He hadn’t even bothered to ask.   
“I’m sorry, was that too forward?”   
Geroge’s eyes widened and he immediately cut in, “No! God, no, absolutely not.” he laughed breathily, and James returned the awkward laugh, reaching up to push up his glasses. George sniffed and licked his licks, obviously searching for words like they were written on the wall behind James’s head. 

“I wished I could have asked you here this evening for informal matters. Or just to talk to you.” he sighed tiredly.    
James’s stomach lurched, and he parted his lips, “Oh. I’m sorry, I just assumed…” he gestured his shoulder behind him at the door where they had reunited, and George rolled his chair closer to the desk. 

“That,” he spoke with a slightly embarrassed smile, “was my wrongdoing.”

“Oh.” James nodded, but George continued smoothly, almost amused at how the younger reacted to his words.   
“When I kiss you, I want to do it in a way you will remember, not like teenagers sneaking around behind clubs. So  _ I  _ apologize for that; I would rather save business for tonight so that the next time I kiss you is in my penthouse on a bed of roses.” James grinned, glowing down at his lap, and George added, “With champagne, even though you’re surprisingly a Tequila man.”

“Guilty.” James placed his elbows elegantly on the arms of the chair with a little too much effort to appear effortless. God, if anyone was a master of kind composure and firmness, it was himself, but around George he felt like an unbalanced trainwreck in a sort of way that made him giddy. He loved it. George inhaled deeply, trying to figure out where he should start. He placed his hands up on the table as James settled into the chair and fell still. 

“James, I asked you to meet with me this evening about a matter that concerns a specific agent that you have…” he waved a hand at him and dipped his head. 

James filled in the blank, “accommodated.” 

“At your facility. Yes.” 

James crossed his legs, “Can I assume that we’re speaking of Agent Hamilton?”

George flashed him a pursed-lips grin, more at the name than the speaker of it. 

“Who else?” he huffed a morbid laugh and placed his hands closer to James on the table, leaning in. His blue eyes reflected James’s face, laden with glasses. The man took another moment to lick his lips and search for words, and James allowed it. 

“I have--as well as yourself--concerns about his conduct. I don’t like that I do.”   
“But you must.” James validated with a cool dip of his head. George copied with a long sigh. 

“Yes. I know that we share the same viewpoint on this upcoming operation, James. Wary approval.” James blinked his concurrence, and George went on, “Jefferson, I do not worry about. He’s an adult; he can conduct himself accordingly. Hamilton, on the other hand, has proven otherwise.”

“More than once, George.”

“Exactly.” George tapped the table with the side of his hand, sleeve rolling up a bit to reveal his leather watch strap on his wrist, “And I need, as a Director, I  _ require  _ the reassurance that my agents are loyal.”

“I’m sorry.” James interrupted, brows flicking down. He blinked in mild shock, “You… question Hamilton’s loyalty?”

“James.” George seemed unfazed, moving closer and flooding his vision with his aqua eyes, “As the warden of your establishment, it is your job to question what in Hamilton’s psyche caused him to snap that night.  _ Mine  _ as the Director is to question whether it was a snap or…” he opened his hands on the table in an apologetic gesture, “not.” he finished the sentence.

James appeared to be in… shock. At a loss of words. His jaw was open, lips parted.    
“What are you suggesting?” he broke the silence, and George leaned back in his seat with a deep inhale and a shuffle of fabric as his suit stretched. James watched him, wheels turning.

“No matter the reason for his past action, I need to be sure it will never recur. Especially after narrowly losing Agent Jefferson; we can’t take that kind of risk, whatever the cause for it.”   
“And your proposal?” James waved a hand, still stunned at the mention of what had been unspoken but they both had been thinking for a long time. That Hamilton hadn’t snapped involuntarily--he was a conscious traitor, though there was no proof. There was no proof that the boy had affiliations with the mafia. George crossed his legs coolly and lifted an elbow to the arm of the chair, daintily placing a finger up to his lips. 

“A simple solution that I would need your hand to put into effect.” James dipped his head in signal to continue, and George delivered.   
“If I am not mistaken, Agent Hamilton carries an MTD-84 embedded tracking device, does he not?” 

James paused. He blinked. Washington couldn’t be proposing what he believed he was hinting at. No. James slowly nodded, skeptical as he answered. 

“MTD-85, actually. In his left forearm.” he corrected, “They cannot be painlessly removed, so in the rare case that a patient is released, the device is deactivated. As Hamilton’s is.” he added on a final note, and Washington nodded along, “Why… do you ask?” he inquired politely, gently. 

For a few moments, the silence in the room was stifling. It dragged on as both contemplated the words spoken by one another. Washington had his fingers to his lips, deep in thought. Finally, he lifted them to speak. 

“James, I am in charge of this operation, as I am all.” he debriefed obviously, “And in rare cases such as Schuyler’s operation and this upcoming one, I have no jurisdiction to view the case file  _ or _ the tentative plan or the mission. The Tech Department all swore an oath in their contracts from day one stating in such cases the information would only be given to the agents necessary. Not even myself.” George tapped the top of an incredibly thin metal box on the table next to him. It had appeared to be some sort of off-brand laptop, but James only just realized. 

His eyes widened, and his gaze darted from George to the object and back.    
“Is that…?”

“Yes, the Schuyler operation file. I meet with Hamilton and Jefferson in this room in ten minutes, but this is not what I wish to discuss with the time I have remaining with you.” he inhaled and sat back up with his impeccable posture to look down in James’s green eyes behind his glasses. 

“I have no jurisdiction to view where they are at any given time on their mission. Even if they add something of significance to their file, it is in complete confidence in the Tech Department. But, darling, I can’t rest until I know that Hamilton…” he scoured his minds for the right words, desperately trying to get this out correctly, “It would be safer.” he spoke cooly, quieting himself and peering seriously into James’s eyes, “For  _ all  _ involved. If tabs were kept and monitored on Hamilton’s location. And I can only think of one way to do that.” 

James was left speechless. His eyes swept over the blemish-less face of the man he was almost positive that he was hopelessly in love with. He was willing to break the rules  _ just  _ to keep Thomas safe. To keep Alexander safe. To risk himself to make sure the heinous past never recurred. 

“You want us to reactivate his tracker.” James spoke slowly, clearly, “is that correct?” he placed the tips of all five fingers on the cool surface of the desk, and George nodded solemnly, knowing he was doing the right thing.

“Yes. That is correct.” James leaned back in his seat with an exhale, looking behind George out to the hub. This was huge. The Director continued to speak on seeing the conflicted warden.

“I know you would have to consult your department. And I endorse that--it’s unprecedented. I  _ only  _ ask that you duly consider this. And that it be held in confidence from any other Departments or the Hamilton-Jefferson pair.” George explained, gesturing with his thumbs, “Jefferson, I’m sure, would support this, but…Hamilton would most likely turn his nose up.”   
“More like his third finger.” James mumbled, still thinking deeply about the troubling matter. He jumped when George's fingertips made contact with his hand. He looked across the desk over to his boyfriend. 

“Promise me you’ll consider it James.”

“I will.” The younger man nodded, still uneasy about making a decision on a matter that was uncharted waters. George was silent for a few moments, scanning over his lover's face. He was obviously conflicted about the matter, though they both knew that it was for the greater good but… it broke the confidentiality rule. He swallowed, his only comfort being that the device was impossible to hack. The mafia could never get their hands on it; it simply wasn't an option. 

“I hope this hasn’t made you distraught.” he tried to find James’s eyes, but he was elsewhere, “You… do know that is the last thing I would wish for.”   
“More or a moral matter to me, George. You know how I am about ethics.” he responded.   
“I do.” George smiled softly, pulling his hand closer to hold his fingers. James’s lips twitched into a weak smile as George brushed his thumb over the smooth knuckles, dipping in and out. 

“Take your time. And I’m sorry we had to meet tonight under such weighty circumstances. I would have much rather…” 

He trailed off, both men entranced by the movement of his finger over James’s hand, “done other things.”   
James smiled weakly, “Me too.” he whispered. George didn’t know what to say, but he knew what he wanted. He shifted his legs under the desk.

“Would you like to meet at my penthouse tonight? Have dinner?” he suggested, “I can drive us to work in the morning.” he smiled, liking the sound of it already, “Just the two of us.” Despite his personal enthusiasm, James still seemed distant. He nodded and reached up to push his glasses up his nose. 

“I’m afraid I have plans for tonight… Can you do tomorrow?” he started to stand, and George pushed back his chair as James’s hand slipped out from under his own, leaving it empty.    
“Oh, w--” George had to think with a schedule like his, “I think so--yes. I’ll call you in the morning?” he didn’t mean for it to sound like a question, yet it did.    
“Please do.” James brushed himself off and buttoned up his suit, “I will consider your proposition with diligence.” he spoke, a little too rigidly. 

“Thank you.” George breathed, placing his fingertips on the desk as he rounded the corner to James’s side. The smaller, younger man hardly seemed to notice until the taller was towering over him and stopped. A guiding finger under his chin gently lifted James’s chin, tilting his face. George exhaled deeply, brushing his fingers up his cheeks to the arms of his glasses and slid them forward off James’s ears. 

“You know you are beautiful in your glasses, James.”   
The shorter huffed a morbid little laugh, hardly finding a smile, “Perhaps you need a pair.”   
George chuckled, guiding the arms tenderly over his ears, lacing through his hair until they were comfortably on his nose again, “I adore them.”

“That makes one of us.”   
George bit his tongue unnoticeably, out of sight from his boyfriend. He could tell he was conflicted, not in the right state of mind for these sorts of things. George nodded to himself; he understood, and was suddenly hit with a wave of guilt.

“I’m sorry.” he spoke, genuinely from his heart. This time, his tone of voice made James look up and meet his blue eyes. 

“George. Don’t be.” James was firm as he took a single step back, distancing them a few inches, “Risky and serious matters are a normality in our field. They won’t disappear now that we’re together. Disagreements won't either.”   
“Of course not.” the Director breathed. There were another few drawn out moments of silence. James finally inhaled and straightened himself. 

“I should go.” George tried to find the correct response to that, but James filled in, “You should be expecting your next meeting soon.”

“Of course.” George dipped his head coolly, watching James turn away. He regretted what he had had to ask him. But in this office, no matter how he felt, James Madison was warden before he was his boyfriend. In this office, anything personal came second, no matter how his heart panged with each beat as he watched him go. 

  
  



	15. Tread Lightly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is now time to introduce the playlist for Thomas and Alexander's relationship in which feels are beginning to emerge in this chapter! If you have Spotify and would like to give it a listen, it is called "For Thomas and Alexander"! I recommend listening to the first few songs in order and shuffling from there, but feel free to do what works best for you! I hope you enjoy this chapter, and perhaps the playlist as well! Much love to all of you! ☺️💕

Alexander checked his new watch, sitting impossibly still on the couch. He was never a patient boy, but he was rather good at pretending to be. His legs were crossed, and his arms were spread across the back of the couch that he leaned leisurely into like a great king awaiting an audience. The black briefcase leaned gently on his hip settled against his trademark glock hilted in its concealed black holster. Alexander had wanted to line it with jewels when he was seventeen--Alexander had always had a  _ thing  _ for diamonds--but Thomas didn’t allow it. 

Now he wore two diamond rings on each hand, five carats each and tapped a single index finger lightly against the fabric of the couch back. His shower hadn’t been easy, having to find a makeshift way to get the nozzle he had broken to work, but other than that it was smooth sailing, finally unpacking some more boxes to find a good quantity of his jewelry, valuables, an Amazon Alexa, and his glasses as well. Special glasses, supposedly.

Finally, after a minute, the door down the hall to Thomas’s room pulled inwards. When the man stepped out with one glossy dress shoe, careful, deliberate, Alex’s lips twitched into a smirk. Thomas faced him from over in the hall, still in full suit as he had been before. He had primped up, Alexander noticed. His hair was slicked neatly against his head, around his ears, and his own wrist bore his Audemars Piguet watch. The man was a _meal_ waiting to be ravished.

He stopped, sweeping Alexander up and down. He was pleased; Alexander was never one to go back on a deal, so he was, as promised, fully dressed in a tailor made suit, hair combed neatly down his neck like lush mane. God, Thomas thought, the long hair and young face got him every time. He would  _ relish  _ giving him this gift. 

“Alexander.” he spoke without moving so much as his lips. Alex slowly lifted his chin as if from a throne.    
“Mr. Jefferson.” 

The address was pleasing to the older, who hummed his approval yet still did not give him a happy face. Instead, he beckoned with a flick of his fingers.    
“Come here.” 

Alexander showed him radiant white teeth and carefully uncrossed his legs, placing his shining black shoes on the rug. 

“Have a pleasant half hour? I was starting to think you’d dipped without me. ” he inquired, going through the pleasantries with a devilish look in his eyes, “Gave me time to eat most of the fridge, so.” he shrugged. Thomas didn’t respond, just spectated whilst he rose from the couch as elegant as no nineteen year old ever was. The boy smoothed down his body-fitted, buttoned suit as if he was the world’s most refined gentleman. 

Thomas knew why he was in such a cheery mood: the kid was well aware that he was about to get a present, and oh was he smug about it. Selfish, conceited, and yet Thomas wanted nothing more than to spoil his rich ass for some inexplicable reason. The driver stood back as Alexander stepped up to him, borderline sauntering, but it was too professional to fall under that definition. The only sound was the sharp click of his heels as he halted before Thomas, giving him a calm and knowing look from beneath his lashes. 

The corners of his lips always naturally curled upwards like he knew a secret nobody else knew about you, and today they were curling higher. 

“You look hot. Have something for me in your suit?” Alexander bit his lip and let it slide out from between his teeth, glistening, and lifted his hand just slightly to toy with the end of Thomas’s black tie, “I could come and find it if you’re a little shy, Thomas.” he slid his thumb through the break in his white dress shirt between the buttons, slipping under. He flashed Thomas a glance from below as he stroked the pad of his finger over the bump of a warm, tight ab.

The taller exhaled, seeming to grow an inch or two right there before him in height. 

“I’m in a good mood, Alexander, so I’d like you to be careful.” he warned, and Alex let his tie fall back in front of his buttons. Thomas’s head followed Alexander as he passed slowly into the room, flashing him an eye over his shoulder. 

“Where do you want me?” he queried, and Thomas nodded his head slightly to the modern walk-in closet, eyes never leaving Alex’s. 

“In front of the mirror.”   
“Jesus, Thomas.” Alex breathed, chuckling under his breath with a tiny shake of his head. He gave the older man sideways eyes over his black-clothed shoulder as he turned, “you’ve got this narcissistic kink. I love it, you asshole.” Alexander stepped into the closet, “Anybody ever told you that you’re an asshole?”

“Nobody I didn’t have fired. And I didn’t ask.” Thomas’s voice was edged with gentle warning, “I just said to get in front of the mirror, Allie.” 

Alex’s lips twitched into a smirk. He was already learning that being addressed like that meant only good things on his end. It was his pet name as well as his nickname, he was coming to find.

“Which mirror?” Alexander called as Thomas followed him into the dimly lit space, the light source hidden in the room, only giving it a low golden glow. Thomas slid the door shut behind them with a click.    
“Take a wild guess, Sherlock.” Thomas responded, and Alexander nodded with an “ahh”. The half mirror to the right side, longer than it was wide with a light source glowing behind it. 

Before the mirror was a ledge where the cabinets ended, creating a table area that one might place jewelry on. But now, there was only a brick-sized box of seamless black velvet.   
“A puppy?” Alexander chuckled, stepping up to the mirror as per Thomas’s request. The taller only smirked. 

“Please, you couldn’t keep a pet rock alive if you tried.”

“I object.” Alexander stopped, and Thomas observed through the mirror as his light hazel eyes darted back and forth over the closed lid of the box. He liked Alexander like this: curious like a child as he looked over what Thomas had for him. It was the same look in his eyes when he’d first seen the surgical table and been introduced to sucking cock. The boy was quiet for once, captivated as he traced a nail over the box. 

There was a single, silver letter inscribed in what appeared to be sterling silver: a curling letter “J”. Alex looked over his shoulder to the driver, who was standing directly behind him in the shadows, towering. 

“Hey, I might’ve treated myself a little yesterday without knowing you were gonna spoil me. So, apologies.”   
Thomas’s brows flicked down, “What?”

He stepped up behind him, appearing in the reflection. Alex caught his eyes and held up his wrist so that his new diamond watch sparkled in its light. 

“I liked your Cartier watch. You know, the one you were wearing when you refused to go clubbing with me. Couldn’t get it out of my head; you know how I feel about diamonds.”   
“I don’t like. Clubbing.” Thomas clipped shortly, narrowly avoiding a trap of Alexander’s, who would reel him into some metaphorical mind trick about diamonds and his obsession. Instead, Alexander snorted a laugh. 

“Oh really?” Alex huffed sarcastically, knowing _full_ well that it wasn’t Thomas’s thing, “I thought your classy ass would  _ love _ ripping a fat rail of cocaine off my ass cheek in a club bathroom and pounding me raw. Seems  _ very  _ you-ish, Thomas.”

“Did you--” Thomas didn’t seem to be listening and reached around Alex to grab his wrist, yanking it towards him to see it better. His brows swooped down, “Did you  _ steal  _ my fucking watch?” he spat.

“Please, Thomas.” Alex laughed out loud, jerking his arm back from the rough grip with a rustle of fabric and long hair, “We all know I have sticky fingers, but have some respect. I bought my own. I liked it.” he smoothed his suit down, feathers ruffled.

“This watch was two hundred _ thousand  _ dollars.” Thomas scoffed, and Alexander turned around, pivoting on a heel to face him for this point. He cocked his head, gazing up into Thomas’s black eyes.   
“Jefferson, I have money to  _ burn _ .” Alex spoke patronizingly, “I hit one billion yesterday, did you know that, hm? I bought back my place in Southampton yesterday too--this little toy was just something that caught my eye.” 

Alex could feel Thomas begin to burn and suddenly remembered his place. Remembered why he was here. He bit his lip and slowly turned back to the mirror, reminding himself to play nice with daddy; he was being rewarded.

“Like I am to you, sir.” he added on a final note, lowering his wrist back to his side. 

Thomas drew out a long silence, vibrating with suspense. He wanted Alexander to  _ feel  _ his presence,  _ feel  _ how close he was to crossing the line. He had just saved himself by the skin of his teeth. Finally, Thomas ended the torture because he knew what he was about to give Alexander. If the boy thought he was going to get a pretty new watch or a car, he was sorely mistaken. The sniper wasn’t the only one that could play dirty.

The tall man inhaled deeply, placing his hands on Alex’s shoulders and squeezing them. He ran them back and forth over the fabric like a massage.   
“That’s right. After all, you  _ are _ correct, Alexander.” he shrugged, kneading comfortingly down his upper arms, “you are just a pretty toy to me. And I think of you as mostly just a fleshlight with too much of a fucking attitude .”

“Well,” Alex spoke, a glimmer in his eye, “At least I’m pretty, yeah?”

“Mm.” Thomas grunted, ignoring the fishing for praise. He flicked his chin up, “The box. Take a peek.” Alex extended his fingers to brush over the velvet again before using both hands to lift at the crack, “I have a feeling you’re going to like it. Even if it isn’t edible.”

“You know me too well.” Alex grinned, flipping open the lid with a pop as it locked into place. 

There was a silence.

Thomas just smirked softly to himself, brushing his thumbs up and down the back of Alexander’s neck soothingly, over the wiry disturbance he had felt before. All part of the plan. Alex’s breath caught in his throat, and Thomas watched his eyes widen in the mirror. 

“Shit, Thomas…” Alexander breathed.

“You like?” Thomas purred pleasantly, snakelike, as he used the back of two fingers to stroke up and down the side of Alexander’s neck like a pretty pet. Alex reached his fingers as if to lift the item, but a twitch of Thomas’s grip on his shoulder, tightening, halted him. His brows flicked down, eyes darting to Thomas’s in the mirror. The taller man’s jaw flexed, and he clicked his tongue in disapproval.

“Ask me before you touch things. I don’t wanna see that again. Ever.” Alexander stayed for a moment in indecision. He was…  _ not  _ used to keeping his hands away from pretty things, and he wasn’t used to anyone telling him not to do what he wanted. Years and years with no authoritative figure, and now it was  _ deeply  _ psychological, almost physically difficult to be told what to do. Thomas watched his struggle, and resumed his deep, rumbling voice.

“Alexander.” he spoke coolly, Alex’s hand still hovering over the item in the box, “Put your hand away. Now, or I’m taking it back.” Alex’s fingers curled into a loose fist, not angry, but uneasy as he slowly… slowly lowered his hand back down to his side. The tingling sensation of Thomas’s fingers brushing the side of his neck was tantalizing, making him unable to think straight. 

“There. The world didn’t end.” Thomas mumbled, “You have some serious fucking obedience issues.” The driver lowered his head down to press a kiss up under his jawline, pressing his nose in his cheek. Alex wasn’t expecting it, but he opened up his neck for him nevertheless, closing his eyes and releasing a sigh. Thomas’s hot tongue flicked over the skin as he concluded the kiss, still tracing his fingers up and down his throat. It was erotic, sultry, but fuck, it was so possessive. 

Woah. A single kiss could get Alexander hot without even trying. 

“You’re being awfully nice to me, driver-boy.” Alexander noted with a tiny laugh as Thomas drew back his head. 

“Maybe I’m not all wicked, Alexander.” he spoke conversationally, “Ever considered that?” he toyed, reaching around the front of the boy to the box. Alexander laughed lightly through his nose.    
“And maybe neither am I.” 

“Let’s not get too generous.” 

The box had a forward tilt to it on the inside, allowing the viewer to better sight the contents. Laid on a padding of black satin and illuminated by the low light was a choker necklace, a fine chain of unmixed, glittering silver.

“Pure silver.  Millesimal fineness of 999…” It snaked through Thomas’s fingers, glittering as he lifted it and dangled the pendant in front of Alexander’s face. The boy’s intelligent hazel eyes followed it as it swung like a pendulum in front of his eyes. It was a heavy, tear drop shaped figure, chromish in its flawless, shining surface. The pendant appeared to be heavy by the way it was weighing down the chain in Thomas’s hand.

“Austere.” Alexander delivered his opinion, sensing some sort of dark energy radiating from the simple yet beautiful object. 

“It’s going to look pretty around your neck…” Thomas drawled lowly, reaching around Alexander with his other hand to split the chain, holding the necklace open. Alex understood and lifted his chin, arching his neck beautifully and watching the show in the mirror as Thomas met his eyes and settled the necklace on his throat. It was cold, and he swallowed. Thomas relished in his reaction as he pulled it up so the teardrop lay nestled in the delicate place between his clavicles. 

“This is actually a special necklace, Allie.” he grumbled, brushing aside Alexander’s hair on the back of his neck to fasten the clasp. As he did so, Alexander oblivious, he stole a peek at the bare, exposed skin. 

What he saw caused his heart to lurch in his chest with a rush of adrenaline. 

There was a tattoo. 

Thomas blinked, swallowing his shock as he worked to clasp the necklace inconspicuously. There were three words written in black ink across his neck, but the ink seemed to be glinting, almost  _ metallic _ . They looked Latin, definitely Latin, but the tattoo wasn’t the greatest shock. It was… the gut-wrenching scar that tore his perfect skin beneath it. 

Thomas’s heartbeat accelerated, pumping blood through his head until his ears roared and throbbed. The more he stared, the more difficult it was to tear his eyes from it, white and wiry and  _ horrid _ . The surgeon in Thomas wanted to punch something; it obviously had not been stitched at all, whenever this had happened. It couldn’t have when he was around; he would have never let it get like this. Never.

When he let the hair fall back down to cover it, he had a lingering feeling of outrage clinging to his heart. 

“You okay?” The words jarred him back to reality; he understood that he had been staring at Alexander in the mirror for a second, long enough for the boy to scan him. Thomas licked his lips, throat dry as he threw his guard back up, hurled back up the walls and slammed himself inside, stomping out the tiny flame in him that had flared up with the violent urge to slam his fist into anything in the room except… Alex. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he bit back, driving Alexander’s probing mind from his own, “look up, I want to see you.” Thomas’s long fingers positioned elegantly and lightly under the sniper’s jaw, tilting his head up to look at the necklace hanging at his throat. The feeling of odd rage still subsiding, he took a breath and gently tucked the teardrop under his suit collar to settle against his bare skin, hidden. 

“Listen to me very closely. This is more a collar than it is a necklace.”   
“Looks like a necklace to me, bud.” Alex laughed highly, a bit off-sounding as Thomas brushed his knuckles lightly down Alexander’s clothed spine. 

“Oh no, this is I had made just for you.”   
“Flattered.”

“I’m not finished.” Thomas’s tone silenced Alex as he gave him one last glance in the mirror before reaching inside of his suit jacket. He dipped his fingers into an inner pocket and lifted out a tiny, thumb-sized rectangle, glistening black like a training clicker. Alex’s eyes expanded. 

“A shock collar.”   
“Thomas.” Alex tried to turn around, but the hand clapped down onto his hip, digging his fingertips roughly against his flesh. He curled his powerful fingers under Alex's belt, haltering him.

“ _ Don’t  _ move unless I tell you to.” Alexander stiffened and stilled. Thomas’s scalding tone tamed him in thrilled fear. After only a second, Thomas let his hair lay flat, mellowing once again. The grip loosened on Alexander’s hip, and Thomas pet it.    
“We have an important meeting, obviously.” he spoke in his usual tone, “And knowing you, you want to walk in there and fuck shit up like a two-year-old.” Alex made a dirty face and scoffed.

“Well shit, Thomas, last I remember  _ I  _ wasn’t the one who got kicked out of the meeting I wasn’t supposed to even be in.”   
“Last I remember, I’m not the one who called the leading press writer a  _ fat motherfucker _ .” Thomas clapped back, “Don’t try me. Cause you’ll lose.” 

His hand closed over Alexander’s neatly combed long hair, grasping it at the base of his neck, and finally, Alex fell silent, stewing in his muteness. 

“You disrespect or dishonor me during this meeting, I will move my hand to my pocket and tap.” Alexander stifled a sultry, dirty sigh as Thomas’s fingertip tapped the back of his neck gently, “You don’t behave yourself after the warning, you’ll feel my disapproval.”   
“Then let me feel it.” Alexander hadn’t lifted his head to speak the request. He was staring darkly at his own reflection when he had asked. 

“What was that?”   
“I said, let me feel it.” he restated, looking up to Thomas in the glass, “Shock me. I wanna know what I’m gonna be ignoring while I disrespect the hell out of your pompous ass.” The words weren’t even out of his mouth before the stinging, numbing electricity cracked against his sensitive throat like the stinging tip of a whip. 

“ _ Fuck _ !” he jerked, flinging his hand to his neck, but the pendant was already tucked under his collar. The pain ebbed away in tiny waves, gone in three seconds, but still reverberating as it subsided. Thomas watched coolly over him, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his lips. When Alexander finally met his gaze again, he spoke. 

“Gonna ignore  _ that _ ?” Thomas huffed a small laugh, tracing his fingertips across Alex’s shoulder, “seem a little shocked to me.”   
“Puns? Now?” Alex scoffed, irritated as he rubbed a thumb over the area, tweaking his neck, “Aren’t badly timed puns my job?” he grumbled under his breath, but Thomas caught on with a tiny snicker. 

“Your job,” Thomas smiled brightly at him, tossing the remote in his hand and catching it with a satisfying smack in his palm, “is to watch your step.” He curled a hand inside his lapel and split it open to tuck the remote back inside.

“Tread lightly, Alexander.” his voice was low and cool, his tone almost sounding similar to Alexander’s. He patted the remote softly and leaned down to press a kiss on Alex’s ear. The boy’s eyes fluttered closed, his shoulders stiffening. His next words were lethally soft.   
“Tread lightly.”

* * *

Both men peered out of the elevator into the quiet hall, warmly lit with golden sconces to exemplify the detailed marble floors. A few stray members in black and white garb strode by and out of sight from the curving corridor, their footfalls and chatter still audible from afar, but the pair stood side by side behind the ajar metal doors.

Thomas tucked his phone away in his back pocket with a sniff, readjusting the grip on Alexander’s briefcase as he cast a quick glance down on his associate. 

“Are you waiting for something?”   
“Yeah, a good Fast and Furious movie.” Alex snickered against the chain at his throat, and Thomas huffed a short laugh and stepped out over the threshold. 

“Aren’t we all?” he motioned back with his head for Alex to follow, and the kid strode forth with a swish of fabric, coming up to Thomas’s side. Washington’s door arched above them, the largest in the hall. Alex’s heels clicked on the marble as he breezed past Thomas and walked backwards, suit falling aside to show his pretty hips shifting cockily. 

“Allow me the honors, pretty-boy.” he grinned a white-toothed smile, “After all, I’m used to coming to Washington’s office at all hours of the night.”   
Thomas’s brows swooped down, and he made to snarl something, but the door behind Alexander swung inwards without him even touching it. Alex’s smile faded rapidly as he pivoted gracefully on his heel to face the entrance; he knew he had access but not automatic…

A man emerged and closed the door behind him, startled-looking at being so closely encountered. Alex squinted. 

“James.” Thomas’s tone came out as pleasantly surprised. As the two came together to grasp forearms and shake, Alexander ran a quick scan of James Madison completely involuntarily. His hazel eyes calculated him, darting back and forth, picking up on all of his tiny signals, his superficial body language. The man was older than both of them, professional, educated, he was short-ish in his silver suit with silver-framed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. 

Alex sniffed it out like a hound. Something was… off about him. He was troubled; Alexander could tell in three seconds flat. The boy took a step back to create a triangle between the men, placing his fingers slowly down on his hips over his leather belt. He was in the mood for being himself today. He was in the mood for some hell raising.

“Tom.” James grinned, but Alexander could tell by the way his facial muscles moved, lifting from the lips not the cheekbones, that it was strained. His vision flickered over to Alex, a flash of awkward uneasiness passing behind them, “Agent Hamilton... How are you?” 

Alexander met the man only a couple times before, and he already had a baseline for him. He was perfectly vulnerable for Alex to work his cruel satire. The boy lifted his head for a tiny chin tilt, the body language to make another feel slightly inferior in a polite manner.    
Thomas stiffened, eyes darting between Alexander’s metamorphosing demeanor and his friend. 

“Better than I’ve been all year.” Alexander responded courteously with a blink and a radiant smile. Thomas’s lips parted slightly at his backhanded reference to his confinement sentence, “and how are you, Mr. Madison?” He spoke coolly. Thomas’s hand was slowly moving towards the pocket of his dress pants. 

“How is your facility?” he shot the question just as James’s lips moved, hitting his timing perfectly with his questions to assert superiority, “I had expected to stay longer, and I apologize for leaving so abruptly. We both have this lunkhead to blame, don’t we?” he grinned fondly at Thomas, who stared at him in bewildered speechlessness. His lips were parted; his black eyes were dark below his heavy, sharp ebony brows. 

The driver turned his face to James with a light, shocked smile. 

“What brings you to Washington’s office?” he inquired curiously, ignoring Alexander’s little display like it had never happened. The kid ground his jaw, molars scraping lightly as he contemplated. So this was how Thomas was going to play him off. Like a child to be ignored. 

James licked his lips, looking skeptically from Alex back up to Thomas, who towered over the both of them. 

“Confidential matters, Tom.”

“Confidential?” Thomas’s brows flicked down in interest, and Alexander spectated, calculating every single nuanced gesture. James looked up to the ceiling in a barely noticeable eye-roll.   
“Yes, you’re not the only one in this bureau, Tom.” he sighed, “I’d tell you if I could.”   
“Mm.” Thomas hummed, still curious but obviously holding his tongue. For a moment, there was nothing but uncomfortable silence between the three. Evidently, Alexander was the discomfort factor, but he had no ability to feel remorse or apologetic. 

“Well.” Alex smiled tightly, breaking the awkward pause. He turned his gaze to James, “Good to see you, as always.” he extended his hand for James to take, and for a moment, the man just stared at it. 

The hand that was possibly the most feared and glorified in all of history--his for the taking. James hesitated only a moment’s hesitation before accepting it, and Alexander grasped firm, taking the opportunity to step closer and clap his other hand down on James’s shoulder in one swift motion, trapping him formally.

“Please, bring my compliments to your staff.” he spoke quietly now that they were closer. They could feel each other’s body heat. He kept shaking hands with him, refusing to pull away and making James feel as if he couldn’t. His hazel eyes bore down kindly into James’s light ones, and he smiled with his sparkling grin, “For allowing me ample time to do as I pleased in my cell. It was a rather  _ rousing  _ experience. Five out of five stars on Yelp--”

“We have a meeting, Alexander.” Thomas’s voice was colder than stone and  _ sharp _ . Alexander slowly… slowly turned his face around to look at Thomas as if he was a colossal inconvenience, smile fading. However, his eyes glanced quickly down to Thomas’s hand that was hovering over his pocket. His long index finger tapped, tapped, tapped...Alex understood. Oh. 

They locked eyes in the same moment, a look passing between them. And Alexander slowly released James Madison’s hand. The kid immediately reinstated his smile and brushed off James Madison’s shoulder, straightening his suit for him. 

“Well. Do Email me if you wanna chat. You seem alright.” 

James’s eyes flashed with anger as Alex disrespected him; his hand bore three white finger marks where the sniper had obviously gripped a little firmer than was warranted. 

“I shall. And thank you for your compliments.” James clipped through a clenched jaw, shooting Thomas a sharp look before pushing off between them and heading for the elevator, obviously upset. 

The absence of the warden left Alexander and Thomas directly facing one another.  In the silence of the hallway, Alexander’s face was eerily calm. Thomas, on the other hand, was the contrary. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” He snarled under his breath, hissing so Washington wouldn't hear on the other side of the door. Alex made a face.    
“Me?”   
“Yes, you, God, do you have to treat everyone around you like complete garbage?” he gestured with his hands like he wanted to either strangle Alex or beg God for strength not to. 

“ _ He _ , Thomas, was hiding something. I read his expressions like a comic strip.” he gazed down at his feet for a moment, calculating, mind churning, “he’s conflicted on a decision by what I saw…”    
“Why?” Thomas growled exasperatedly, exhausted.

“Why what, dipshit?” Alex scoffed, “Why is he conflicted? I don’t know. We can question him if you want, but the question is when and how.” Thomas screwed up his lips in frustration.   
“Why do you feel the insufferable need to read everyone like a closed book, can’t they just  _ be _ ? Would that be so fucking difficult for you?” For a few moments, Alex stood in shock at the emotional rage. Where... _where_ the fuck did that come from? Thomas realized his tone and went on in his fragile, quiet voice like it would break into a yell at any moment. 

“Everyone’s conflicted. Everyone’s got shit. You don’t have to pick them apart like a--”   
“Surgeon?” Alexander guessed, curling his lip to snarl up at Thomas. He took a single step closer, sealing the gap between the men. Thomas’s chest rose and fell calmly beneath his black tie, and Alex could feel his body heat, smell his perfume. 

“Don’t tell me how to live my life; my skills have saved your borderline retarded ass more times than you even have the mental capacity to count.”   
“Don’t say that  _ fucking _ word.” Thomas flashed him his characteristically sharp canines in warning, and Alexander clapped right back with  _ venom _ . 

“I’ll say whatever the hell I want--” his words were cut off by a choking, hitching sound as electricity crackled explosively under his shirt collar. He hardly saw anything as he snapped his neck back, reaching up with a hand to tug his tie down. Thomas stood over him, a darkness writhing in his eyes… 

“This is what I’m talking about. Why do you do it, Alexander?” he clicked the tiny remote in his pocket again right after the first time, sending Alexander craning painfully and releasing a “gah!” of discomfort as he shocked him. He could hear the tiny zapping, clicking sound from the hidden shock necklace.

“You make everyone around you feel like shit.” he spat, watching Alexander bend his neck down, his tiny hand curled around his throat. His fingers dug into his own soft flesh as it fluttered with slightly heavier breaths. The kid swallowed with a tiny sputter at the end. Thomas waited, upset hatred roiling in his stomach, for Alex to look up. 

“Fuck you, bastard.” Alexander spat messily, “You’re fucking ridiculous.”   
“No. Fuck  _ you _ .” Thomas corrected with a shake of his head, obviously done with this conversation, disgusted at how he had watched his closest friend being mistreated by his fuck partner. 

“This conversation is over. Go.” 

“No the hell it isn’t. What is wrong with you, man?” Alex stood up straight opening his arms to let his suit hang off his frame and expose his figure and glare directly into Thomas’s angular, tanned face. He was genuinely angered now, genuinely riled up, “Like, lighten the fuck up; what’s your problem with me?”

Finally, Thomas had enough. Even if he’d wanted to control his next words, he couldn’t have. His temper was blinding him: his most detrimental flaw.    
“Open the door right _ fucking _ now unless you want me to fry your pathetic  _ Harlem-trash _ ass like Madison should have.”

Alex’s face fell open in shock. For a moment, for a glimpse rarer than a blue moon, a flicker of emotion passed behind Alexander’s eyes. He… felt something.

Hurt. 

His brows twitched towards each other; his lips parted slightly. He had hurt him.

And Thomas had never felt a tug on his heart so excruciating. He had never wanted to take back words more than in that moment, and he had no explanation or reason for  _ why _ . Because Alexander deserved that… didn’t he? Didn’t he deserve it? 

Thomas opened his mouth to say something. He had no idea what he was going to say. No idea, no words, but the deus ex machina came like a godsend to rescue him from the disquieting, comfortless situation. 

The door swung inwards behind them, tousling their neat hair with a rustle of wind. Both heads turned in unison, the eye contact and moment breaking like brittle matches. A lingering, clinging feeling of heaviness pulled down on Thomas’s stomach as he stepped twice to face the Director. 

“Gentlemen. I thought I heard voices.” he pursed his lips into a smile and made eye contact with both of them. He was in an elegant silver suit and was as tall as Thomas, taking the lead of the dynamic. Alexander coughed slightly and gave a polite nod.   
“That’s us. Are you ready, your excellency?” he inquired, his voice cool as if he had never been affected in the first place, but behind it… there was a barely-audible note of injured feelings. Thomas couldn’t bring himself to look at Alexander. He was… mortified. 

“Come in please.” Washington dipped his head and pivoted stiffly on his heel to stride briskly into the gut of his office. Alexander looked up involuntarily to exchange a glance with Thomas on the tense state of things, but it seemed that the taller was avoiding his eye. He rolled back his broad shoulders and followed suit with the Director. For a moment, watching Thomas trail after Washington, the scent of his cologne drifting past him, he felt a little disoriented. He blinked, noting the heavy feeling in his gut. 

Even if the man had just blatantly taken a lash at a sensitive spot, Thomas was his checkpoint, and when he wasn’t sharing glances he was a boat with no moorings. It was… odd. 

Alex pulled the door closed behind him with a percussive clang over the muffled conversation between the two and smoothed back his hair whilst he turned to the rest of the group. Washington had directed Thomas to the conference table instead of his desk, and the driver was settling in the leather swiveling chair on the left side of the table. Washington was lowering into his own at the head, lips still pursed. He was definitely. Not. Happy. 

“Alexander. Please.” he clipped, waving two fingers impatiently for Alex, who raised his chin and approached at his own same pace, stubborn. Finally as he was coming up to the long table on the opposite side of his partner, Thomas gave him a glimpse of his dark eyes from his sitting position, and Alex returned it with a sense of relief that they weren’t going to avoid each other.

It was just like old times. An entire conversation passed in a fraction of a second of silence. 

_ “He’s fucking mad.” _ _  
_ _ “At you.” _ _  
_ _ “Wasn’t my fault.” _ _  
_ _“We're not arguing about this. Sit down. I can’t change the past, but I have a clicker in my pocket that I’m not afraid to use if you act like a little bitch.”_

Alexander blinked slowly, the tip of his leather shoe brushing Thomas’s as he slid up into his seat and lowered himself into the cushioned leather with a hiss of air. The office was, as usual, humming and whirring with activity of inanimate objects that Washington took a fascination to. The HUB could be seen bustling below, the streetlights glowing golden beneath the sunset which cast a pinkish light into the office and across the smooth, wooden conference table. The surface was completely empty save for an impossibly thin laptop and the sealed metal case with the eye-scanning lock system.

That was it. It almost… radiated a dark sort of energy as one might feel around a bomb. 

Thomas rumbled a closed-mouth cough and set the briefcase down between their feet with a quiet thump, causing Alexander to slowly cross his legs and lean back, the leather giving way a bit with a creak.

“Discussion with Madison went well?”   
“We’re skipping the pleasantries tonight, Hamilton.” Washington responded dismissively before Alex had even finished, fingers curling around the front of his hips to slide open the incredibly thin drawer at the head of the conference table. Thomas sniffed, shuffling his waist in the seat uncomfortably, licking his lips like he had something to say but held his tongue with no lack of difficulty.

The superior in the room gave Alex a glance from beneath his brow as he glided his hand over the dry papers within, shuffling some aside to find what he was looking for. Thomas could sense Alexander’s mood like second nature, his astonishing, utter lack of tension under the circumstances. The Director cleared his throat, dropping down a stack of paper stapled together neatly in the top left corner with a sharp smack on the table. Alex and Thomas blinked simultaneously in reflex, both eyes drifting to what Washington had basically just thrown down in front of their eyes. 

“Care to read this. One of you?” he raised both brows expectantly and leaned back in his seat, white shirt stretching across his strong, attractive chest as he slowly folded his arms. Alexander noted that it was slightly see-through, and he bit his lip subconsciously. Luckily, the driver didn’t see it as he scooted forward with a shuffle of fabric, leaning down to peer at the paper beside him.

Alexander parted the lapels of his suit to reach inside and extract his glasses, but his heart was pumping quickly. Alex placed his black-framed glasses over his twenty-twenty vision eyes, on his perky little nose, and he eyed the paper with a sense of dread. His breath quickening in anxiety. Even as he glanced at it for a fraction of a second, the tiny letters began to drift off the page, disappear and dissolve randomly into entropy. Only he could see the evasive letters. The special glasses, it seemed, did nothing. He looked away.

Thomas squinted, black eyes darting over the painfully banal Times New Roman font, and absorbed the title. His mouth went completely dry as the words sunk in...   
Alexander didn’t even glance at the paper, but… his hands were shaking slightly before he hid them in his lap. 

“I know what it’s going to say.” he sighed, facing Washington instead of Thomas, who was still reading, “Any particular reason that you're mocking me?” his voice was cool but slightly edged with irritated offense. The Director rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“Agent Jefferson, if you will read the title out loud for Agent Hamilton, who believes he has transcended above using his eyes to read.” he sighed heavily, clapping his hand back down on the arm of his chair to smile lightly at Thomas, retaining his composure as per usual. Thomas cleared his throat with a gravelly rumble,

“Hamilton-Jefferson Pair in Chaos: Illegal hits and Public Expletives, the Reason Not to Give the Legends Another Chance… by John Adams; this months edition of the FBI Journal.” he slowed at the finish, running out of breath as he bobbed his head and gradually lifted his gaze to Alexander. The boy had his hands linked together, both pointer fingers over his lips. 

“That’s a mouthful.”   
“That.” Washington turned his arctic gaze sharply across the table to Alexander, “is the aftermath of what you  _ ardently  _ proclaimed at the most influential media journalist of this organization, and if I daresay, the  _ country _ .”   
He poked his finger down with a thunk onto the hard surface of the table, and Alex straightened himself, lowering his hands from his face to place them like a king on the arms of his chair as he parted his back from the seat. 

“Ardently. Is that what you think?” Alexander spoke, voice far surpassing his age in manner and poise, “Ardently?” 

Thomas sniffed, lowering his hand down under the table. It was in Alex’s peripheral vision, and it set off a little signal in his head like Pavlov’s dogs: follow the signal. Obey. Suddenly the round, chromic pendant hanging between his collarbones felt heavier, and he swallowed, hazel eyes taking a flickering glance at Thomas through his useless glasses, whose face was dead fucking serious. Alex inhaled deeply, the metal rising with his chest. Thomas could see the tendons on his neck appear for just a moment as he gained control of his respect and reined it in. 

“I agree with you, sir. My behavior was… puerile.” he gave the credit and observed out of the corner of his eye as Thomas’s strong, tanned hand returned carefully to the tabletop, folding over his other one. God... his professionalism was so fucking provocative.

“But anyone watching could see that I had reason to be provoked.” he was choosing his words very carefully, strategically, “but the retaliation, I agree with you, may have possibly been slightly--”   
“He was an immature, seventeen-year-old-self.” Thomas cut in, curtailing with irritation Alexander’s struggle to admit that he was wrong, the boy attempting to mitigate his misconduct agonizingly. Alex’s head snapped across the table with a fling of light hair, their eyes locking at the distance over the sheen of the wood. 

“It will not happen again, your excellency.” Thomas continued firmly, “Agent Hamilton and I had an.... organized discussion about it after the press conference, and I believe we have a mutual understanding of one another, don’t we, Mr. Hamilton?” 

He spoke all in one breath, arching his neck to peer down on his partner, expecting the answer he wanted. Thomas was not going to be mistaken in his authority here--not in front of Washington. Alexander would behave himself, even if the boy could read what seeing Alex in his glasses was doing to him. It wasn’t easy to see his face behind the delicious accessory and not imagine fucking the brains out of him right over the desk. 

“We do.” Nothing on Alexander’s stony face moved save his lips. Thomas looked away to distract himself. The boy had the twenty-twenty vision of a lethal sniper; the glasses were yet another trick to play with his head, he inferred. The things that Alexander pulled out of his ass just to fuck with him…

Washington opened his palms, gesturing at both of them, “This is the draft for this month’s edition of the FBI Journal: our bureau gazette. I can’t refuse to allow it to be published to the bureau, only to the public.”   
“And?” Alex inquired seamlessly.   
“And I’ve denied it to the public, obviously. As I have with all articles involving your name, Alexander.”

Thomas shuffled again. He didn’t like hearing Washington call Alex by his first name; it was making him restless. 

“I want to avoid mafia recognition for as long as possible. But as far as I’m concerned, you could both lose your jobs over this.”   
“ _ Excuse me _ ?” 

“ _ What _ ?” Both men jolted forward and spoke simultaneously with brows swooping down in dumbstruck outrage. Thomas made as if to stand up, wrenching from his seat in a flurry of mayhem. That couldn’t be true. Not after the trouble to relieve a teen from a lifetime confinement sentence.

Washington closed his eyes and raised his hand over the pandemoniac outburst to thwart the indignation. His ocean-blue eyes were authoritative and ready with words. 

“Silence, both of you.” he snapped like a father, dishing scathing glances at the agents. The men remained in their stiff places, not resting until they received their explanation. As Washington continued to speak, Thomas slowly lowered down to his chair again. 

“Adams has called for a Departments Conference tomorrow on whether or not you two are fit to return to the field as a pair.” Alex opened his mouth to contradict angrily, but Washington’s words silenced him once more, “ _ And  _ I have gained supporters from most Heads of Departments. Ms. Angelica Schuyler reluctantly took our side after vigorous persuasion, Monsieur Lafayette was a given. Madison sides with us, etcetera.” 

Thomas caught the contemptuous look on Alex’s face. Washington opened his large palms again. 

“The bureau is in a state of civil war, sir.” he gave Alex a look of disappointment, “Illegal hits. Press conference misconduct.” he listed one after the other with a shake of his head, “rumors circulating this way and that. Adams wants you off the mission, Alexander, and quite frankly if he has his way in the final vote of this matter, you will be.”

“Sir…” Alex’s face fell open in utter shock. Thomas’s heart was pounding in his chest, rapid, uncontrollable. This wasn’t happening. Why…? Washington leaned forth in his seat, placing his hands up on the table instead of his chair arms. He stared point-blank into Alex’s eyes. 

“And the  _ further  _ question is who to replace you with if the world’s most infamous driver is left out to dry, and the world’s crown sniper is excommunicated.” Washington talked himself out of breath, waving a hand in vociferous emphasis, “I don’t want to speak of this now. But this mission was designed as an opportunity for redemption to you, Agent Hamilton, and if you fail before you’ve begun…” he blinked, leaning back in his seat to allow the rest of the implications to speak for themselves .

They all knew what he meant. If Alex proved he couldn’t handle the mission, he would go right back where he came from… Where Thomas had left him for that forsaken year.

Thomas raked a hand through his hair, fingers lacing against his scalp. No. 

Washington heaved a deep sigh. 

"Now, I have enough Heads of Departments to keep a tie in the vote--you can’t lose. But you can’t win unless you have a solution.” Thomas’s mind was racing, his mouth was scorchingly dry, and he licked his lips rapidly. Visions of the metal muzzle, the high-strapped collar and the boy laden with binds to that eerie chair at the center of the dark vault flashed before his eyes, burned at the front of his brain. 

Suddenly, he felt the familiar swell of his temper stabbing under his ribs.

“A solution? What the hell does that mean?” he spat, sharp, black brows locked down into an outraged position. The Director stared at him starkly.   
“Mind. Your. Temper. Agent Jefferson.” Washington clipped curtly with a lowered head and level eyes, warning him darkly. Thomas’s wiry jaw muscles were visible as he ground them once. 

“A solution means that either Alexander dreams up a way to fix this mess or--”   
“Gentlemen. Please.” both heads turned to the youngest, his charismatic voice somehow smoothing down the hairs on both their necks simultaneously. 

His face was calm, his demeanor controlled and somehow… snakelike. The boy had pulled out his pen, and he was chewing, gnawing on it at the corner of his mouth as he always was with something. Whether it be a pen, a sweatshirt string, a caramel lollipop, Alexander was always sucking or chewing on something: a trademark habit of his. Thomas’s pounding heart only accelerated to an irregular beat. What the hell did he think he was up to? He hadn’t consulted him. 

“Hamilton.” Washington blinked, a bit caught off guard, “You have something to contribute?”   
“Yeah.” Alexander dipped his head calmly, ignoring Thomas’s efforts to catch his eye and question him. Alex inhaled, twisting the black pen between his teeth. 

“To propose, actually. The solution’s simple; don’t get why everyone’s losing their lunch over it.” he shrugged, still leaned back leisurely in his seat, legs crossed, emanating power. 

“What would you propose?”    
“Easy.” Alexander twirled the pen as he was so masterful at doing and caught it flat in his palm, looking between the other two men in the room, equal to him in power yet far superior in age. It seemed impossible that he had been doing this very same thing--these crucial, classified, elite meetings--since he was seventeen years old in a room full of grown men and women, looking to him like he was their sovereign.

Alex clicked the pen once and continued, “Our misconduct happened in the training ring. At the press conference.”   
“Your. Misconduct.” Thomas growled tensely across the table, and Alex waved his pen, closing his eyes as if he was trying to block the annoyance out. 

“Doesn’t matter. It’s all been trivial, okay?” he looked back to Washington, “What we really need our doubters to see is success in the _ field _ .”

“Yes.” Washington smiled a bit impatiently, condescending him unintentionally, “And that can’t happen if you are… expelled before the mission commences.”

“I know.” Alex mirrored the exact same condescending little smirk. It was  _ uncanny  _ how well he reflected. The boy uncrossed his legs smoothly and placed them on the floor. With grace, he stood, eyes focused on a place above their heads. 

“When we get out in the field, our mission is confidential; we can’t prove ourselves once we’re out and undercover even if we wanted to. What we really need,” Alexander punctuated his point by poking the tip of the pen on the table with a tiny tap, emphasizing, “is to remind them what the legends stand for.” The boy began to amble at a crawling pace, now above the other two. 

Thomas leaned back in his chair with a breath that sounded like, “humble…” and Alex shot him a biting glance.   
“That was plural. Thomas. Keep your shirt on.” his voice was bordering on a scoff, and the agents glared at one another for a long beat. Thomas’s top hand twitched, and Alex’s hazel eyes flickered down to them and back up. It was a warning if he’d ever seen one. 

He’d punish him. Right here. The teenager linked his hands carefully behind his back as he continued his little walk, heeding the warning intelligently.

“Think about it, gentlemen.” he spoke obviously, “What do new trainees do before they can be recognized as agents?” he questioned like they were both the dumbest creatures on the planet.   
There was a pause of silence, and Alex, who was travelling gradually up the side of the table, glanced over his shoulder to smirk at his partner and boss, who were looking at him with the same expression. Thomas spoke.

“Allie, you’re not seriously suggesting--”

“I’m not suggesting squat, I’m _ telling _ you that the way trainees get their recognition and respect is through their  _ assessment mission _ . The rite of passage is the single-day mission they take on to prove their competence. Their assessment mission.” Alex repeated and turned around to place both hands on the back of the chair at the other head of the table.

If anyone knew all about assessment missions, it was of course the Director. Trainees, before being dubbed official agents, must successfully complete a single mission on their own without superior assistance. It was common knowledge.

“Kind of preaching to the choir, Alexander.” Thomas rumbled, tilting his head towards Washington, and Alex rapped his fingers along the leather, his diamond rings catching the light from the HUB and glinting. 

“Does it look like I’m giving a definition?”   
“Yes.”    
“Well then allow me to make it a little easier for you to figure out, Thomas.”   
“Hamilton…” Washington slowly furrowed his brows in a serious final-warning type of way, and Alex pressed on.

“My solution,” he dictated clearly, “Is to let the bureau watch us succeed. You, your excellency.” he nodded to him, “simply get Angelica and Lafayette to assign us a small mission off their books--a petty drug case or some crap here in the city--and Thomas and I run through it like clockwork.” he pursed his lips and opened his arms as if it was the simplest remedy in the world, “In and out, three hours tops. Leaves us time to pack for our departure for the real operation on Monday. Done. Problem solved.” he clapped his hands back down on the back of the chair, leaning forward so the flaps of his suit fell forward along with his tie dangling from his neck. 

Thomas could barely see the extrusion and chain around his neck where the shock necklace hung. Despite wanting to disagree with the boy in every matter, he was making sense as he always did: with astounding rapidity. Washington had a knuckle to his lips, gazing at Alex as he contemplated. Alexander plowed forth with his unending list of points in his favor. He was simply a gut-wrenching  _ marvel _ \--a nineteen year old tiny kid, framed black glasses and clad in a million dollar suit, diamonds and all--telling the adults what to do.

“We prove the media wrong. We prove our competence once again. We get ourselves some practice, and the press conference?” he snapped his fingers with a clear crack, “Poof. Forgiven and forgotten.” Washington was now rhythmically nodding, knuckles still elegantly to his lips, Alex could sense the tides turning in his favor and pulled out the big guns, his devilishly handsome smile. 

“Think of how this would reflect on you, excellency. Your proficiency, the skill of  _ your  _ agents. You can’t lose.” he smiled charmingly. Washington lifted his head.

“Unless you fail the mission.”   
Alexander actually chuckled out loud as if it were the most ridiculously childish notion he’d ever heard, “Thomas and I have been partners since I was seventeen. Three years since 2065. If any two agents  _ aren’t  _ going to fuck this mess up, it’s him and I. I know Thomas.” 

Thomas’s heart gave an extra hard beat at the words. He sniffed casually to cover up whatever weird emotion arose at Alex’s praise.    
_ Been partners since I was seventeen… If any two agents aren’t going to fuck this mess up, it’s him and I…I know Thomas. _

Washington opened his fingers to wave them lazily at Alexander, giving him rare leeway with his vulgar tongue.    
“I have hardly any doubts in your ability to succeed, I confess, but trusting you is another matter.” he spoke openly and honestly, slowly leaning forward to cross his arms on the surface of the cool table, “How do I know I can put any faith in your behavior after what you’ve been doing, Alexander? Honestly, it’s ridiculous we even need to be having this discussion.” 

Alexander frowned with a shrug, his hair falling beautifully over his shoulders. His hands were still on the back of the chair at the far end, leaned forward as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other casually.    
“You don’t.” he spoke confidently; a flicker of mischief flashed through his eyes, “But you have no choice.” 

Thomas felt frozen as he witnessed the suspenseful tension drag out between Washington and Alexander. The boy’s face was utterly calm, and the driver could sucker punch his fake glasses right off his stupid face. He was so…  _ entitled _ , so arrogantly  _ confident  _ that he had won before Washington had even uttered a word. Thomas’s ebony eyes darted back and forth between them, waiting for one to break the locked eye contact. 

Washington leaned back in his seat calmly, that serene aura of his ever-present. 

The Director tapped up under the table, and a compact telescreen projected before him with the voice icon. He spoke clearly.   
“Akanni, please have Monsieur Lafayette and Ms. Angelica Schuyler in my office at eight o’ clock this evening.”

“Yes, your excellency.” the female voice replied in a smooth Nigerian accent, and Thomas watched as Alexander’s sly lips curled into a beautiful smile. As Washington clicked the button again, Alex blinked in substitute for a dipping head. 

“Thank you, your excellency.”   
“Do not thank me. If it weren’t for your conduct, this wouldn’t have to happen. Thank yourself, Agent Hamilton.” His voice was kind, but his message was obvious.

Thomas couldn’t help the tingling in his gut. A mission. An assessment mission. He hadn’t been out in the field for long enough, but he hadn’t been out with Alexander in what felt like centuries. For a moment, the breathless feeling returned to him, the pumping adrenaline, the bullet shells falling to pavement in a gunfight, the revving of supercar engines over Alex’s banging assault rifle and the boy’s hazel eyes--the exchanged smirks--as they took turns interrogating the suspect until he cracked. 

Thomas squeezed the back of his hand to bring himself around to his senses, getting caught up in anticipation. God… he shouldn’t be excited… but he missed the smell of burning rubber and piping shells.

Washington folded his suit flaps over his abdomen as Alexander reapproached, straightening his glasses before he sat down in his leather seat.    
“I shall speak with Lafayette and Schuyler on a simple drug case for you two tomorrow morning. If all goes well as you assume, you should be back here making preparations for your  _ real  _ mission by eleven in the afternoon. In fact, shall we finally speak on that subject now, gentlemen?”

“With pleasure.” Thomas responded, adjusting his tie up at his throat and noticing that Alexander was looking at him across the table that separated them. He returned the glance instinctively, and Alex twitched a mischievous brow as he sat down with a creak of the seat. 

_ “Just leave things up to me, driver-boy. Washington’s smooching my ass like a holy shrine.”  _ his face said.

“Well.” Washington began, eyes sweeping methodically over the spread he had at their conference table, “To begin, I had a list of items compiled for you to collect and bring.” he tapped a firm finger on a paper.

“A packing list.” Alexander huffed, crossing his legs once again, which can’t have been easy considering the bruises and sore whiplashes, “how cute.”   
“An essential piece of preparation, Agent Hamilton.” Washington continued coolly, letting the boy off with nothing but a light smile. Thomas prickled. 

“I have here…” Washington huffed a strained breath as he leaned and bent forward, placing a hand on two separate, small, laminated square stacks of paper, “several fake IDs for both of you, as is expected. You may use these according to the circumstance, and if you require a more specific one at any given time, as usual contact Ms. Angelica Schuyler, and the Tech Department will write one up. Of course, Thomas, your age is more negotiable.” 

H e gestured politely to Thomas, who huffed a quiet laugh through his nose with one small chin toss as he set Alex’s briefcase up on the tabletop with a thump, “However, Alexander, the highest we could risk to go with you on these IDs was twenty-one. Again. You can get into clubs and casinos if need be--with the mafia it nearly always is the case--but if you are still dreaming of bumping it up to twenty-five… still a no.” he smiled with his white teeth at Alex, who returned it at the reference to his request he’d made at seventeen when he’d received his first fake ID from the bureau. 

“No offense taken. Thought Id’ve grown up a bit too, but I think I might actually look identical to first-year Alexander.” he switched his amused grin over to Thomas and flicked his thumb and index finger down his chin like he had facial hair, “Thomas loves the beard.” 

Thomas snickered at the hopeless lack of any hair on his young face and tried to stifle it for the sake of appearing above Alex’s humor. Thomas flicked open the lock with a click and opened the briefcase to place their IDs inside of. 

“Never mind, the IDs are ready for you. I trust you have your FBI personnel identification?” 

Alex seamlessly reached inside of his suit and flicked out his Christian Louboutin wallet to reveal the glinting gold logo. 

“Back in the game.” he tossed his hair, and Thomas rolled his eyes as he filed away the packing list. Spoiled brat. 

However, Washington didn’t smile. He bit his lower lip and quietly laced his fingers on the table, readying to say something. Alexander picked the signal up like a million bucks off the floor and cocked his head.   
“Excellency?”

“I… am,” he glanced up to Alex with icy blue eyes, sympathetic but obviously selecting his words with utmost diligence and caution, “relieved to welcome you back under the organization, Agent Hamilton.”   
“Thanks. Good 't be back.” Alex nodded with a smile far too casual and discourteous--bad manners, Thomas mentally growled-- but Washington wasn’t finished. He flashed a glance to Thomas.   
“And I am eager to get the mission underway, as the chances of retrieving Agent Schuyler dwindle with each passing day… However, boys.” he gave them a spent sort of look, like they should drop their guards now and get this over with. Alexander’s senses were on full alert, preparing to take on and manipulate whatever was about to happen. 

“These differences you have…” he sighed with a shake of his head like he shouldn’t have to say this, “they just need to be sorted out. Genuinely, between the two of you. I can address how the public eye views your partnership, but it’s your responsibility to… reconcile the events of the past two years--”

“This isn’t relevant to the purpose of the meeting.” Thomas’s interjection was so dry, so monotone that it sounded automated. He crossed his arms over his chest, walls flinging up around him, “We’re here to receive the Schuyler case file and get out.” he cast it a glance in front of Washington, the secure metal case. Washington opened his hands to give Jefferson a sympathetic gesture. 

“I am aware, Agent Jefferson, of the objectives of our meeting. However, if your success on this mission relies solely on your ability to trust one another, it is completely my business to inquire.” he glanced between the two, Thomas uncomfortable and not meeting any eyes as Alexander gazed calmly across the table at him, The boy rapped his nails on the surface, creating a series of clicks in the silence. 

“So. Alexander. Thomas.” he dipped his head to each one, staring at them from beneath his lowered brow, “Have you come to terms with the past events?”

“Could you be more specific?” Alex chewed on his pen, swiveling his chair slowly back and forth. He was rubbing it in. He wanted Washington to say it. The Director gave Alex a dark look, but the boy was focused on Thomas. The man was  _ livid _ . His upper lip twitched in rage; his eyes were a storm of vibrating fury. 

The Director heaved a deep sigh, “I am speaking of your murder and arrest, Agent Hamilton.”   
“Ahh, that.” Alexander smiled and lifted his chin into a nod of recognition. Thomas folded his hands down in his lap under the cover of the table. That was enough. He’d had  _ fucking  _ enough. 

Immediately, Alexander grunted and jerked in his seat as electricity crackled against his delicate throat like a slicking blade. He dropped the pen with a noisy clatter down to the tabletop, and his hands darted to grasp the edge. At the sudden noise, Washington blinked incredulously, brows furrowing down.    
“Alexander, are you alright?”

Alex screwed up his lips, wincing for a moment as he dug his nails into the table. The pain mounted before it broke its climax and ebbed away in waves.    
“Fine.” he puffed in a strained voice. After a shocked moment, the boy began to gingerly roll his neck around, still cautious and tingling, “Yes. Jefferson and I have come to terms with it.” he caved, bowing down in submission.

“Excellent.” Washington’s voice was edged with skepticism, but he allowed the odd moment to slide. Alexander couldn’t deny Thomas’s gaze, and met those dark eyes as the man leaned back in his leather seat with a stone-cold straight face, but his air was  _ smug  _ as he folded his hands in his lap sophisticatedly. Alex squirmed and bit his tongue inside his mouth. This was an experience he could never have dreamed up in his wildest imagination.

He could  _ feel  _ the heat from Thomas,  _ sense  _ the domination like an omega of a wolf pack--he could smell it radiating from him, strong as the sharp aroma of blood. A pool of dull heat collected in his lower belly, and he bit the inside of his cheek. God. 

For anyone else that didn’t moan for torture and humiliation, this would be, well, humiliating. But, of course, he found it too hard to sit still… quite literally. 

Thomas inhaled and twitched the corner of his lip. He was looking at the spot on the table under which Alex’s lap would be, and Alex crossed his legs harder even though Thomas couldn’t see. There was only rustling fabric of Alexander’s quiet struggle to get comfortable again as Washington continued. 

“...Ms. Angelica has added your eye-identification to this case file so that you can open it as you please, and only you. Even I do not have access to the information, so… gentlemen.” he lowered his voice firmly, catching their eyes once again and pulling them from their little staredown of sexual tension. Thomas cleared his throat with a gravelly rumble and tuned in. Washington raised his brows. 

“This… could be the key to saving Elizabeth Schuyler’s life.” 

His tone was so serious that Alex hardly had time to think about being turned on. He was jarred right back into reality. The man’s face was grave. His tone was morbid. For a moment, the room was utterly silent. 

“You both knew Ms. Schuyler as well as I did. She’s dauntingly intelligent and individualistic. A former cryptographer. She trusted no one but her sister. Kept few friends. Which made her an outstanding agent, especially in deciphering…” he trailed, and Alex picked up where he’d left off.

“There’s about to be a ‘but’ in there.” Alex flicked his fingers, and Washington dipped his head solemnly.

“But…” he followed Alex’s script, “I fear that these qualities may have affected the way she presents the information in her case. She was a rambunctious cynic with intentions of never revealing the contents of her file, only the outcome. The only information she ever planned to share was her discovery of the mafia leader, never the steps she had taken to get there. Which… doesn’t help anyone now… not even herself. Listen to me very closely now, boys. I warn you. Both of you.” 

He gave them dark looks, and Thomas checked in with Alexander before returning it, “What you find in her case file may not be as easy to decipher as you would hope.”   
Alex’s heart took a leap in his chest. Time seemed to stop.

A… riddle mission? Alex’s senses honed in on the mans’ words. A… mission where the directions weren’t down in ink? An open end? 

Washington licked his lips and slowly reached up to hover his fingers over the thin metal casing, the case that radiated, emanated a sort of dark aura, foreboding. Alexander quietly bit the end of his pen, flicking the tip of his tongue along the point. The secrets within that tiny file…

“I… have a feeling that the guidance for the most difficult mission in FBI history shall match the overall objective’s complexity.” 

As Thomas stared at the austere case on the desk, he caught sight of Alexander out of the corner of his eyes. He watched the boy, tried to read what was going through his mid. Thomas ground his teeth and swallowed. He couldn’t pick apart what was in the sniper’s head, but he knew the look darting through his eyes… the hunger. The thrill of the hunt. 

It was the look in his eyes when he was given a game to play. And not just any game: an enigma, a puzzle on a massive scale. The same golden glint in his eyes when the stakes were high, when the bet was all or nothing. He saw this as a game, Thomas understood. 

Suddenly, Alexander looked up to him, light hazel eyes glinting behind the frames. Thomas swallowed when Alex’s gorgeous lips slowly curled into a sinful smirk. 

He saw this as a game, yes. But more importantly… a game he wanted to play with Thomas on his side.

* * *

“Alexa, play country music.”   
“Alexander…”   
“Volume up three.”

Alex opened the fridge as the music crescendoed over Thomas’s voice. The discovery of the Amazon Alexa hidden deep in his boxes had been a blessing of music to the kitchen as of three seconds ago. Well. For Alexander as a torture device, not to Thomas who was quickly coming to understand why Alex had been so excited to bring it down. As Alex hummed pleasantly off-beat from the music and kicked the fridge door closed with a heel, there was a low groan from the island where Thomas had his face in both hands, slowly rubbing up and down. 

The boy grinned over his shoulder as he dumped the carrots--far too many--on the cutting board with a thundering sound, rolling around.    
“Something wrong sweetie?” he cooed in his best southern belle accent, and Thomas let his head thunk down to the table in defeated praise to God. 

“There’s a gun. In my holster.” he sighed muffledly, “Blow my fucking brains out.” Alexander snickered, a metal clinking sound as he opened and closed several drawers before realizing the knife block was up on the counter. 

“No, no, no. This agreement was your idea. I cut this garden shit for your leaf soup, and you let me play music.”   
“It’s salad…” Thomas lifted his face while monotoning, rubbing up and down his face as if this was the last time he was going to say it, “Salad, for Christs’s sake; every time you say ‘leaf soup’ an angel dies painfully.” he snarled, irritated at his position. 

Alexander was right: Thomas was looking over the facts of the case for tomorrow morning’s “assessment mission” that Alexander had somehow talked Washington into arranging through methodical ass-kissing, and Alex was cutting carrots. That was his one job. Cutting carrots. Yet Thomas refused to leave the kitchen and leave the cooking-disaster-prone sniper to handle the chef’s knife. You’d think one with such skilled accuracy abilities would understand how to cut vegetables. Wrong. 

Thomas turned a page of the case facts of their suspected drug smuggling situation, a truck that had been seen making several trips between two warehouses with past drug issues for no apparent reason. There was reasonable suspicion to investigate, especially since a drone had taken film of the suspect loading the truck the day before full of unlabeled packages. 

The driver set down his pen and uncapped his highlighter, sending it squeaking across the dry page to highlight a detail to remember.    
“I don’t get it.” he growled irritably as he highlighted, “You hate country music with a passion.” 

He re-capped the highlighter with a click, and Alexander gave him another smile over his shoulder while he slid a knife halfway out of the block to observe it and deem it worthy. “Ah, but  _ you  _ hate country music with a passion too.”   
“Yes…?”   
“I rest my case.” Alex chuckled wickedly to himself and replaced the sweatshirt string in his mouth where it always was as the music artist in the background went on about his old jeans or dead dog or something. 

Alex was in his casualwear now, green Gucci sweatshirt and black adidas sports shorts, and for some reason the shock necklace that he refused to take off even when Thomas had given explicit permission. The kid liked shiny things. But hell, if Thomas couldn’t sniff out bottoms like a police dog, the kid would look straight as a stripper pole. Still, he could say the same about himself. 

Alex rolled up the sleeves of his sweatshirt to his elbows and sniffed, casually checking his wrist for a black hairband before pulling back his luscious locks and twisting them into a low ponytail to reveal the silver chain around his neck and… the edge of the scar. Some strands in the front fell out around his face, and Thomas had to look away. The imperfection was a little too angelic to him for no apparent reason, and he had work to be doing. 

Thomas was suspicious of the generosity in general. He and Alexander usually needed to flip a coin to decide who got to do the interrogation when it came to that point, but Alex had given it up willingly--something about not wanting to be seen too much by criminals that could potentially be mafia members before their true mission started. Solid reasoning, as usual, but Thomas knew the sniper far too well. 

His mind drifted as the banal text on the pages before him dulled his mind. He knew the proper steps to a peaceful FBI interrogation like the ABCs. He also knew the steps to a not-so-peaceful and pleasant one, but that would only need to come if someone’s tongue was really reticent. 

He cast a glance over at Alex arranging the carrots into a neat row--like, thirty-five carrots, it was ridiculous for a two-person salad--and wondered how the boy had let a practice interrogation opportunity slip through his fingers so easily. Suddenly he piped up, startling the driver.

“I can take off the sweatshirt if you’re still staring at my ass, Jefferson.” he spoke around the string in his mouth.    
“I’m not--what?” Thomas made an incredulous dirty look, jarred from his deep thoughts. Alexander lifted his knife from the counter and placed it on the end of a carrot. 

“Like hell you are.” he snorted simply, but Thomas had already leapt up from his seat, sending it swiveling. 

“Whoa, whoa, _whoa_! _**N**_ ** _o_**.” Thomas shook his head, brows upturned as he rounded the island into the kitchen and bumped Alexander aside with his superior size.

“What the fuck, man?” Alex scoffed as Thomas reached for the knife and pried it from Alex’s fingers.    
“What the hell is this?” he held it up high out of Alex’s vertically-challenged reach, scowling at Alex as he shoved it back down in the block’s knife-slot, “We do not use a  _ meat cleaver  _ for carrots.”

“I’m  _ sorry _ .” Alexander sneered sarcastically as Thomas shook his head exasperatedly and browsed for another knife, “I didn’t know there were sacred laws surrounding carrot cutting.”   
“It’s not that, I don’t want you dulling my cleaver on fucking vegetables.  _ Chef’s  _ knife.” he delicately bestowed upon Alexander the classic chef’s knife, and the boy took it unceremoniously with a dirty glare. 

“Alright, Gordon Ramsay. Cleaver’s safe. Happy?” he snorted, lifting the knife to the cutting board for only a moment before Thomas jumped in once again.   
“Jesus-- _ Allie _ .” he curled his hand around Alexander's--still grasping the knife--and lifted it from the cutting board, “What are you doing? What  _ are  _ you doing?”

“Exactly what your gay ass told me to.”

“First of all… actually, no, I’m not responding to the first part.” he blinked in baffled disbelief, “Secondly, have you ever been near a kitchen? Ever?”   
“We used to make lasagna. I don’t get why we can’t do that now; it was so easy.”

“No. I’m not making a four hour meal at 8:30 at night; are you fucking slow?” 

Alex glanced down at Thomas’s hand over his, completely covering it. It was slightly calloused, rougher than his own, and warm too. For a fleeting moment, he hesitated. 

“Right, well are we gonna walk down the aisle and say our vows or what?”    
“Shut up. You’re not getting out of this; face the cutting board.”    
“Come on.”   
“Now.” Thomas’s voice was brimming with a growl, and Alexander huffed in deep annoyance, remembering that he was still under Thomas’s command due to the lost bet they’d made. Bets were the only thing that could bind his behaviour. 

Alex tucked a stray strand of hair behind his exposed ears and turned robotically with his hips against the counter’s edge. Thomas stepped up closer behind him, still wearing his dress shirt, pants, and tie as he was apparently most comfortable in them. Or less vulnerable. 

He rolled up his sleeves one by one with a rustle and replaced his hand over Alexander’s, and immediately, they both paused for an awkwardly terrifying moment. A rush of electricity surged through them from the place their skin was touching, a tidal wave of energy. Thomas carefully curled his long fingers around Alex’s knuckles and towered over his head.    
“Hold the end here.” he pushed forward a single carrot, and held it down at the tip, “One at a time to start, or you’ll take your hand off.” he grumbled, and Alexander snickered.    
“Oh no. I’d have to get my sexual pleasure from you, then.” Thomas kneed him in the butt, more of a gentle bump, which drew another muffled laugh.

“Start at the other end and and cut straight down with the heel of the knife--no, Allie--stop it.” he squeezed tighter when Alex tried to take the lead, and the boy stopped. He swallowed. The feeling of their hands squeezing together had no name… but it was a feeling. Thomas silently cleared his throat and stepped up even closer so that he was brushing Alex’s back with his front. 

“Now watch.” Thomas mumbled the command, bringing the knife down in slow motion, gaining a rhythm as he let it thunk down with a little slicing sound to the wooden cutting board. Alex’s other hand stayed uselessly at his side as he was trapped between Thomas’s arms and body, but he didn’t feel trapped. Letting Thomas guide his motions was almost… therapeutically rhythmic. Soothing. Letting someone else take control of his actions was the opposite of what it should be; it was liberating. When he’d finished, there were five tiny little discs and the fresh aroma of carrots.

Thomas didn’t know what this weird sort of trance was, but it was so normal. So domestically normal. And of course… right in that moment, his anxious brain brought forth their moment today outside of Washington’s office. It flashed like a vivid vision in his eyes: the hurt that he had inflicted on Alexander’s feelings. The shocked pain in his eyes. In an astounding record time, the feeling overwhelmed him, and he puffed a sigh. 

“There. You’ve completed the literally simplest task imaginable with maximum help.” he let go of Alex’s hand and brought down both of his own to clap down on the boy’s shoulders, patting him roughly before stepping away, leaving them both a bit cold, wanting… more of something they couldn’t put their fingers on. 

Alex just sniffed, watching him go for a moment before returning to his task, slowly, gingerly cutting. He’d never cooked before, not with anyone but Thomas. Their lasagna had been hella good before Randolph showed up. He was allergic to gluten… and Thomas never really wanted to make lasagna anymore after that. 

Alex tossed a lock out of his face that had escaped his short ponytail.

“So.” he lowered the volume on the Alexa and returned to his tentative chopping, “How long does rabbit food take to eat?” he inquired, “Cause I’m getting real horny to look at that case file.”

“Wouldn’t if I were you.” Thomas didn’t look up and grumbled boredly around the pen in his mouth, holding it there as his hand was occupied with the highlighter, “It’s just drugged up junkies too moronic to realize you don’t load your trucks in broad daylight like a shit-for-brains idiot.”

“No, not that case.” Alexander laughed, gathering up the carrot bits and throwing them into the salad bowl, trying to flick off a sliver that stuck to his thumb, “Sorry to break it to you, big guy, but what you’re reading is child’s play to me now. I’ve had my run with drug cases.”

Thomas looked up from his work. Alexander sensed the change of mood, and turned around as well. Knife still in his hand, he leaned his back against the counter ledge.    
“The Schuyler case file. It’s been collecting dust in your office for an hour.”   
“How dusty do you think this apartment is?” 

“Pretty fucking dusty with your old-ass in it, but that’s not the point.” Alex quickly corrected himself when he saw the glint of warning in Thomas’s eyes. This was not the time to rile him up, frustrate him, though the ability to do so was easily in the palm of his hand at any time he pleased. No. Now he must keep him calm, keep him reined in.

Alex squeezed the counter edge, “Washington was talking about it like--”   
“Like a puzzle. I get it. You’re horny for cheesy riddles.” Thomas scoffed, shaking his head lightly and about to return to his word when Alex persisted. 

“Not ‘cheesy riddles’. A hunt. This is a manhunt, is it not?”   
“Minus the sexist term, yes, this is a manhunt.” Alexander laughed at him in a patronizing manner as he turned back around, gingerly cutting more carrots like they might explode if he did it wrong. 

“Alright, social justice warrior.” he chuckled in his condescending little tone, and Thomas’s hand tightened around his pen, pausing, “A womanhunt. A person hunt. We’re looking for Schuyler and Burr’s mobster ass, whoever he is. And if you’re half as smart as you think you are, you know that Washington was  _ trying  _ not to reveal the strictly confidential truth about Schuyler’s files.” 

Alex peered over his shoulder at Thomas, who had his knuckle to his mouth in utter confusion. What the hell was he talking about now? Alex twitched his brow when Thomas wouldn’t inquire. 

“Think about it, Jefferson, you’re stupid but you’re not impaired.”   
“Watch it...”   
“Think about it.” Alexander repeated in a lower tone, calmer, “He’s the director; he sees agents’ case files all the time, granted not ones as preponderant as these.”   
Thomas snorted lightly in mockery, “Nice vocab, smartass.”

“Much obliged.” Alex replied in a smartass tone to match, “but he was  _ hinting _ at something about  _ Schuyler _ , Jefferson. Doesn’t take microexpressions to understand that. He kept using the word… decipher. Over and over again. Even when it didn’t fit.” Alexander spoke mostly to himself now, rapping his nails along the granite countertop and biting his lip. His gears were turning in his head, synapses working at impossible speeds. 

Suddenly, he had an epiphany, “Schuyler was a cryptographer before she was recruited...”

It clicked.

Thomas heaved an exhausted sigh, “I have no fucking clue how that’s relevant. And stop playing Nancy Drew or whatever, bitch--this is real life; Washington was telling us everything he knew. So can you cut it out while I’m working?” Thomas huffed, a bit frustrated at the distraction, but Alexander shrugged, smiling coyly to himself as he finished the carrots and scraped them into the bowl. He had just single-handedly figured out what Washington was trying to tell them. He independently understood Washington’s concern about the content of her case file.  _ Her  _ case file. 

“Mmm…” he hummed pleasantly, wiping his hands on the sides of his pants as he turned back around to face Thomas. He squinted kindly. 

“And that’s why I’m a better agent than you.”   
There was a deafening pause. Thomas quietly set down his pen without a sound. 

“Excuse me.” his voice was so flat there was hardly a question within it; it was rhetorical, yet Alexander persisted despite the darkening of his features.   
“Please, Thomas, you couldn't’ sniff out a clue if it was shoved up your ass and smoking a joint.”

“That’s it.” Thomas clipped, aggressively flipping the packet over to the front page with a rustle of paper. Alex’s heart leapt a beat in his chest. Fuck, he’d pushed it too far. Thomas was already on edge because of the workload they had on their hands now, two cases, and Alexander had pushed his luck. 

“Get on the couch. Wait there for me.” Alexander tossed the knife carelessly on the counter in indignation and swung his head to Thomas.    
“Now, Thomas?” Alexander sneered, pulling down his sleeves from where they exposed his forearms, “Now?” 

The man stepped down from his seat, loosening his tie irritably, “Now what, Alexander?” but as he looked at the boy, he understood what he thought he was implying. He curled a lip in exaggerated disgust. 

“You whore.” he breathed in a repulsed way that made Alexander’s belly tingle with a thread of arousal. He gave him a contemptful glare as he stood from his seat and yanked his black suit jacket from the back. 

“Can’t get sex off your mind for three fucking minutes.” he spat under his breath, making sure to let Alexander hear it as he breezed past. Alex’s head followed him down the hallway, and he blinked incredulously. 

“Where the hell are you going?” he called after him, and the muffle response interrupted.    
“Couch.  _ Now _ .” That was not a command any person in their  _ right mind  _ would dream of disobeying. Alex mumbled a string of curse words under his breath as he tore his hair out of the ponytail, shaking it free and looping the band around his wrist as he rounded the island. His bare feet padded on the floor as he contemplated the daunting epiphany he just had about the file. 

She was a cryptographer. More importantly, a rambunctious, cynical cryptographer, Washington had said it himself. He’d known her around headquarters, her short cropped hair, rows of piercings and no-bullshit attitude. She was Lafayette with no sympathy, and Alexander had liked her at first. Now, he knew that she was about to make their mission a whole lot more difficult. Thomas was yet to understand precisely why. 

  
“What?” Alexander spat as Thomas strode up to him, but he jolted when the man tossed down something heavy as a laptop dangerously close to Alex’s leg on the couch.    
“Check your tone of voice.” Thomas snarled, feathering his tie through his hands as he unknotted it. He sat heavily in a chair across from Alexander, leaning back into it as he slipped the tie from his collar like a snake. 

“You wanted it, you got it.” Thomas gestured at the thing he’d dropped, “Go fucking crazy.” Alex paused. His eyes darted from the object beside him, dark metal rectangle, and back up to Thomas’s handsome features.    
“Thomas, Thomas, Thomas…” Alexander tutted fondly, lips curling into a smirk as he reached across the couch, pulling his legs up onto it into crisscross and reeling it over to him. The case file slid and bumped along the couch until he lifted it into his lap. It was strangely light, but with the technology the bureau had access to, it was hardly impressive. 

“If I couldn’t read your mind, I’d be shocked you gave in so quickly.”   
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Thomas scoffed, balling up his tie and tossing it onto the coffee table. He kicked off his shoes. Alexander just gave him another sly glance.

“You’re going to have to learn how to respect my ideas. You’re itching as much as I am to open it cause of what I said. Aren’t you?” his voice had a note of arrogance; he knew that his reading of microexpressions was impeccable, flawlessly accurate. 

Thomas curled his lip to reveal his canine, dark eyes flashing. His hips set low in the couch, showing his prominent and ample equipment behind his zipper. Alex had the urge to give it a glance and quip on how it must be hard to cross his legs when he’s packing all those inches, but he held his tongue for the sake of civility. Nevertheless, his mouth watered a bit, and he swallowed. 

Alex inhaled and reminded himself of the task at hand. He glided his hand over the cool, smooth surface. His fingernail found the notch at the edge where he was supposed to press inwards.    
“Respect.” Thomas was bobbing his head meanwhile, obviously hot and bothered, “you want me to respect you.” 

“Personally, I don’t give a fuck what you do.” Alexander shrugged honestly, as he pressed, causing a tiny projection of a grid to appear before him in a blue so light it was nearly white, “But if you’d like to keep your face bullet-less on the mission, I’d say listening to me’s a good plan.”

“Death threats?” Thomas exhaled boredly, propping his temple up on his fist on the chair arm, bouncing a knee, “Aren’t you a little old for those?”

“No. And I’m not threatening you.” Alexander mumbled offhandedly, adjusting the case so that the grid fell over his right eye. He widened it, “Just saying that when I try to save your ass, listen to me. I actually know what the fuck I’m talking about.”   
“Likewise.”   
“Done.” Alexander agreed, setting it back in his lap when it made a tone of three beeping sounds, “I trust you more than you trust me…” he trailed off when there was a sharp click. Then two, then three, a series almost like a ripping sound as it traveled up the seams of the case, unlocking the secure device. 

Thomas watched intently from his place, mesmerized. Finally, there was a “shunk” sound, and it fell silent. 

Neither agent moved for a solid three seconds of indecision. 

“Need a Youtube tutorial?” Thomas snapped, and Alexander blinked back to reality. The kid cleared his throat and shifted his hips on the couch.    
“I sucked dick yesterday, asshole. I can figure anything out.” Alexander placed his string in his mouth cockily and turned it over with his tongue, chewing in concentration as he gingerly lifted the file like a laptop lid. 

He did it slowly as if it could bite him, and Thomas suddenly became uncomfortable. He shuffled his feet on the floor before making the decision to get up. 

He leaned forward with a grunt and stood from his seat. Alex did a double take, brows furrowing down.    
“Show hasn’t started yet, man.”   
His head followed Thomas as he strolled away into the kitchen.   
“I want my leaf soup that I’m sure tastes like ass.” he grumbled.

Alexander grinned at Thomas calling it leaf soup, somehow funnier when he said it, and returned his attention to the file as the silverware drawer tinkled in the background. 

“Yeah, well you’d know the taste.” Alexander remarked as he clicked the lid into place. Despite his light attitude, Alex’s breath was coming just a tad quicker. His heart was steady, but wary. 

When the screen lit up like a laptop, Alex started. 

“Fucking Christ…” he cursed under his breath, exhaling shakily after the fright. Alexander cast a quick glance up to Thomas, who had his back turned, but Alexander could read every single one of his movements and body language. He was waiting for Alex to say something. He was dying to see the information that would guide their operation. Alex looked down to the glowing white screen. It was starkly white. No tabs, no exit option, just white and void of color. A single blinking cursor pulsated at the top left corner. Alex waited in anticipation, his heart starting to thud loudly in his ears; he could hear the blood. 

The cursor began to move. 

It glided evenly from left to right, and black lines followed. Words. Alexander’s face broke out into a giddy smile, watching the information flood. 

“Dipshit, come look at….” his cheery voice fizzled off into nothing as his smile quickly faded. His brows furrowed. A tiny chart appeared into view. Five by five rows and columns. And then… everything stopped. There were two lines and a little table. 

That was… it?

Alex scanned the page with his eyes. It looked so sad and pitiful. 

Thomas sniffed from the kitchen, leafing through the salad bowl with his fork and stabbing it down with a crunching sound.    
“So. What’s it say, Sherlock?” he leaned against the counter leisurely.    
Alexander was dumbstruck. Two lines. They had…  _ two  _ lines? 

He squinted, trying his best to make out the small, typewriter font letters, but immediately they began to swirl, slowly and lazily falling and dripping down the screen. They leaped in and out of view depending on how he looked at them. As usual.

“It’s…” Alexander shook his head, scooting back on the couch to pull it closer. He’d expected this… but not so  _ little _ . He squinted again, screwing up his face, but it didn’t help. As all words did, they floated and swam in his vision. He blinked. 

Thomas gave him an irritated look, “What. Man.” he commanded, firmer, and Alex gnawed on his sweatshirt string, stress beginning to build in his chest. He felt his stomach begin to knot and tighten. 

“There’s only…” he squinted again to make sure, “Two lines. And… some sort of chart.” It was mostly guesswork. 

“Okay. Read it.” Thomas forked some of his dinner into his mouth followed by a crisp crunch sound of iceberg lettuce, “Nobody writes just two lines in a file.” he wasn’t looking up, just casually focusing on his meal, but in the living room, a pulse stopped. 

At his words, Alexander’s heart plummeted into his stomach with an icy splash of  _ dread _ . His gut positively  _ wrenched _ . The dreaded words that could bring him back years through his life to a place he’d never planned to revisit. Alex bit down hard onto his sweatshirt string and looked back at the screen, the dissolving letters. Oh… no.

This was the situation he avoided; this was the situation he should’ve anticipated as he always did. This was the moment he’d weaved around hundreds of times to preserve the opaque glass wall around the memories. 

And just like that, it was shattered like shards before his eyes. He was back in a classroom. Standing at the board. Watching the dry-erase letters disappear and appear in and out of view as he turned the marker in his sweaty hand, waiting for them to just  _ sit still  _ in utter silence. Eyes on him. They all want to go to lunch; they want to get out of the room, and they’re all honed in on him, alone, utterly alone at that board in front of everyone. 

_ “Just read it…Jesus... _ ” they whisper to one another in an irritated tone as Alexander’s blood roared in his ears, his vision clotting to a tiny tunnel of focus because… he can’t. 

He licks his lips, heaving completely silent but  _ desperate  _ breaths through his tight chest. The frustrated, humiliated tears blurring his eyes don’t help the words on the board. 

  
He could almost feel the same lump in his throat now. Alex swallowed. 

“Come and see for yourself.” he spoke numbly; his voice sounded like it was about to waver. He wanted to punch himself in the face, cringe. That wasn’t convincing. Jesus, that wasnt convincing in the fucking slightest, and now he was trapped. Was this how other people felt? Was this how… he made people feel? It wasn’t the heaviness he’d felt for the first time two days prior; it was taut like a knot made of his entrails.

Thomas was no dummy, and his brows flicked down.    
“I’m eating. Can you just read it?” he asked, a bit more concerned than annoyed, but still an unpleasant mix of both. Alexander knew that tone of voice too well. Alex’s lips parted in panic. He was panicking.  _ He  _ was panicking: Alexander Hamilton. For an utterly horrifying moment, his lips searched soundlessly for words before he could speak again.

  
“Yeah, but I think you should see it for yourself.”

“I’m audibly oriented; it helps to just hear it, so could you just  _ read  _ it, Alexander.” his tone was extremely annoyed now, impatient. The anxiety in Alexander’s chest  _ mounted  _ in a momentous wave of pure terror. This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t something that happened to him; this was something he caused, not something he experienced. How did it get this bad… he had been getting better before… 

He looked up from the screen, the liquid letters to stare at Thomas. His black eyes locked with the hazel, bothered, Alexander could see. He had been getting better before Thomas took it away from him one year ago. Alex’s face darkened, his eyes clouding. Thomas set down the bowl on the counter with a clink and spoke before Alexander could. 

“Alright, what the  _ fuck  _ is up with you?” he spat, unwittingly making everything worse. Alex let the string fall from his mouth back to his chest, but Thomas pressed on. There was a visible vein in his neck now. 

“You’re acting like a real dick; what the hell?” Alex’s vision started to haze. God… please no tears. 

“Shut up, Thomas…” his voice came out… not sounding like him. It sounded like another person he had never met before. 

“Okay, cut the shit.” Thomas was clearly at the end of his rope as he shook his head and tossed his fork down onto the counter with a clang that jolted Alex like electricity, “Don’t pull bambi eyes with me like a little bitch, and read the file; it’s not fucking brain surgery.”

That’s exactly what it was. That’s exactly what it felt like. The tension in Alex’s chest swelled until it was bursting to release; so tight it was painful. The tendons on his neck showed as he heaved silently for breath, glancing down at the blinding screen, the letters warping worse than ever now that he was stressed. It was too much. It felt like the eyes of the world were on him again. Teachers, classmates, Thomas, Washington. 

And he snapped. 

_ “ _ **_I_ ** _ can’t, okay!”  _ he roared, flinging the lid of the case closed with a deafening clap of metal. Thomas blinked in utter disbelief, standing up straight from his place in an offensive stance.    
“What the hell, Alexander?” he scoffed, opening his hands in angry confusion, just sick of all the dancing, “You can’t what? Can’t read?” he snarled indignantly. He had no mercy for Alexander’s little tricks. 

“Nice try, fucker, but I’m not stupid enough to believe that colossal load of horse shit.” he barked an outraged laugh, “Don’t patronize me.” Thomas made it all about himself.

“You know what.” Alexander pursed his lips, rising from the couch and tossing the file just as Thomas had down onto the couch with a little bounce. The driver’s dark eyes followed his movements. Something was off. This… wasn’t how Alex would conduct a usual round of mind games. Was this real?

That was when he saw the sheen, the glitter in his hazel eyes. A brim of liquid pooling above his lower lid. 

Alex bobbed his head and reached behind his neck, unable to stop himself. It was a new and  _ powerful  _ emotion; no matter what his logical brain was telling him to do, this one percent of him had taken over the controls, driving him completely. It was terrifying. 

He curled his fingers around the warm silver chain around his neck, and when his fingers were trembling too hard to unclasp it, he simply jerked it forward with so much force that it nearly sliced through his skin. It was painful on his curled knuckles.   
With a pop, it came loose, the chain falling limply around his hand like a metallic snake. Thomas’s face fell open in utter shock. His lips parted. Dear God...

“You can have this piece of shit back,  _ asshole _ .” Alexander spat with absolute, scathing  _ hatred _ , “Cause you know what, you don’t really think my illiterate Harlem-trash ass deserves it anyway,” he quoted Thomas and spoke the words with so much brutality he could see the visual effect directly on Thomas’s face, “so why don’t you go give it to one of your other twink whores and fuck them while you’re at it.” 

The words were spat through clenched teeth, jerking his arm as he spoke. Thomas only comprehended what Alexander was about to do when the sniper reeled back his arm, gaining momentum before he  _ hurled  _ it. The necklace pendant clanged loudly like a gong against the leg of one of the island chairs, clattering and skidding on the floor under the island. 

Thomas froze in shock. Alexander didn’t. The kid scoffed a morbid laugh, eyes still brimming as he sniffed. 

“What the fuck, you probably don’t even know what the hell I’m saying.” Alexander spat hopelessly under his breath and shook his head as he took a large step away from the coffee table. Thomas felt completely numb. He was frozen in time and space to that spot where he stood, dumbstruck. Had he just… broken Alexander? As he watched him stride away from the living room, hands in his pockets as he speedily mounted the staircase and started to pad up the steps, he was stuck in a state of disbelief. 

Alexander had finally cracked. Alexander Hamilton had cracked. 

There was a slamming of a bathroom door from upstairs, and Thomas didn’t move. The silence of the apartment deafened him. And he was alone. 

But there was one ringing truth that he couldn’t get out of his head: Alexander wasn’t fucking with his mind. The infamous sniper, the wunderkind genius of the century... couldn’t… read. Which didn’t make sense to Thomas; how could he have responded to his text messages? How could he have read the mission contract? Nothing fit. 

He stared up at the wall of the loft that he could see. The bathroom door up there was closed, and whatever Alex was doing in there was silent. Thomas swallowed and ran a hand slowly through his hair on an inhale.

Guilt washed over the driver like a tidal wave as he remembered the tears in Alex’s eyes.  _ Tears _ . In  _ Alexander Hamilton’s  _ eyes. He hadn’t… he hadn’t thought a psychopath had the ability to… feel. Anything. But right about now it hadn’t felt like he’d hurt a psychopath; it felt like he’d hurt a person. And he couldn’t deal with that.

Even if he’d wanted to, he couldn’t go to his office and keep working on either case file. He wanted to punch himself in the face as hard as he fucking could for what he was about to do, but it was already set in stone. 

“Goddamnit, Alexander.” Thomas grumbled to himself, abandoning his meal on the countertop behind him as he snagged his phone and set off, tucking it into his pocket. His leather soles clicked on the floor as he traversed the apartment to the stairs and began trotting up. He already knew what he wanted to say: “I don’t understand you, Alexander. Nobody here understands you.”, but he had no fucking clue what he was actually going to say, and even less what he  _ should  _ say. 

Thomas wasn’t… used to this sort of thing. What were you supposed to say to someone that’s upset; what would James say? With his other partners, they were pastimes. When they cried or got upset, he just kicked them out for being annoying little bitches and invited another one over; it was simple. He didn’t owe them anything; they didn’t owe him anything. Simple. 

This was different. 

Thomas crossed Alexander’s room--a mess to say the least--but he didn’t mention it. The white bathroom door stared him in the face, and he blanked.    
He was blanking. 

For what felt like five minutes, his chest slowly inhaled and exhaled against the front of his dress shirt, running through lines of what to say until it became too long. Fingertips on the handle, he exhaled a long, deep sigh and closed his eyes. 

“Alexander.” he spoke, voice cooler than he would’ve expected. There was no response save for a barely audible shuffle from within, muffled. Thomas lifted his other hand and knocked softly with a single knuckle of his finger. 

“Alexander, you in there?” he rumbled slowly. There was a snuffle like a morbid laugh. 

“No shit.” The tone was so bitingly cruel that Thomas wanted to recoil. His face heated up in humiliation, an emotion he rarely troubled himself enough to feel. That was stupid--where else would Alexander have gone? 

There was another pause as Thomas ground his teeth in desperate contemplation, jaw muscle appearing for a moment. He wanted to beat his brain into producing something that wasn’t horseshit. He ran a hand slowly down his face and stepped even closer. 

“Open the door, Alexander.” he requested simply, and jiggled the handle. To his surprise, it gave way and opened--unlocked. His heart skipped a breathless beat. Was this the part that he went in or waited…? This was why he didn’t do this shit; this is why he avoided it. 

He quietly took a breath and cracked it ajar to peer inside the familiar space. The deep pine green of the sweatshirt was the first thing he saw. The mirror and sink was to the left, and Alexander was standing in front of it, both heels of his palms resting backwards on the ledge. When Thomas pulled the door open wider, Alex’s head flung to the side with a whip of honey-brown hair, and he jumped.

“What the _shit_ , jackass?” he snarled, arm  _ bolting  _ up to his face. He turned away, shielding himself as he aggressively rubbed the wrist of his sweatshirt over his face in a rough, jerking motion, scraping “Who taught you to knock, fuckwit?” he kept up the flow of nasty words, but he was muffled a bit as he turned back around to face Thomas. 

The older man’s dark eyes darted to his sleeves. They were wet with little splotches and streaks of liquid. He observed his face too; it was red just as his eyes were; his characteristically long lashes were dark and clumped together. He had been crying. 

“Are you…?” Thomas started, but Alexander just grinned and laughed. It was a painful smile, one that should’ve been pretty but was marred by the glistening eyes; his laugh was high and sarcastic. 

“What, Thomas?” he kept laughing the words shakily, “am I what?” he turned back to the mirror, jerking the sink handle on to send a noisy rush of water gushing from the faucet. 

“Just say it if you came here to twist the fucking knife, Jefferson.” Another tear slipped from his eye and he jammed his face into his shoulder, smashing it like he wanted to kill it, and it couldn’t have been painless. Thomas raked a hand through his locks.

“I don’t even know what knife I’m twisting, kid.” Thomas looked up to the ceiling as Alex aggressively splashed water onto his face with the same chaotic recklessness of people in face wash commercials. Alex bent forward and rubbed the cool liquid in, not responding. 

“Can you just…” Thomas spoke in a strained voice, curling his hands into fists in frustration, “tell me what’s going on?”  _ I don’t do this... _

“Well fuck, where should I start?” Alexander’s tone spooked Thomas as the kid ripped a hand towel from the ring, whipping it against the table. He wasn’t angry. He was a  _ wreck _ of tears. Even over the water dripping off his chin, Thomas could see a fresh flow. Blood thundered in his ears; this wasn’t real. This was another one of his dreams. Alex didn’t act this way; this seemed like another person he’d never met in his life. This wasn’t the Alexander he thought he knew. 

The boy scraped the towel across his chin as he spoke, “Piss off, Thomas, you did it. Congratulations.”

“What?” The driver was completely lost, and Alexander threw the towel in the general direction of the hook, missing.    
“You cracked Alexander James Hamilton. Kudos to you. Truly. Want a sticker to show your friends? A fucking certificate?”

“No I don’t want a--what are you  _ talking  _ about?” Thomas interrupted himself, letting his fingers slip off the door handle and back to his side, “I’m trying to figure you out, bastard. Everyone is.” He never planned on opening up. But now the words were flowing uncontrollably. 

Alex didn’t even seem to be listening to him, but Thomas pressed on.    
“You can’t read? How? Why? How do you read my text messages? What’s the tattoo on the back of your neck, what the fuck is that scar that nobody seems to know about except my ass?” Alex’s face opened up, lips parting shock. He’d seen it? How? Thomas nodded as if reading his mind. 

“Yeah, Allie, I saw it.”   
“Don’t call me that.”   
“What?”   
“Allie.”   
Thomas rolled his head back in frustration, “You were  _ begging  _ me to call you that  _ three  _ days ago--see this is what I’m talking about.” Thomas raised his voice, gesturing at Alexander, getting flustered and worked up,

“What do you want? I mean God, Hamilton, I feel like I’m walking on eggshells around you.” he pressed, arm falling to his side in exasperation, “ _ All the fucking time _ . You have no…  _ feelings  _ then you whip out something like this? Why now?” his words spilled out of him like blood from a wound, revealing more about his uncertainty than he would have liked.

Alexander whirled around, now fully facing Thomas. Tears were streaming down his beautiful face.

“ _ You think  _ I’m not asking myself the same question? Do you?” he wracked a sob on the last word, petrifying Thomas. His teeth were gritted, his face blotchy and red, his hair clinging to his temples. 

“I can read your texts because I have a model 2067 chip in my phone for dyslexics. That answer your question?” he spat, but it came out as another pitiful weep. He swallowed as he started speaking, creating a hurt animal noise, “Yeah. That’s right, Thomas, you can wipe that retarded-ass look off your face. Take it in. Please do.” he opened his arms wide, letting Thomas see him, all of him. 

“FBI sniper of the century has fucking dyslexia. Surprise, surprise, mother _ fucker _ .” he spat. Thomas shook his head. 

“I didn’t…” he started, trying to come up with something better, but his thumping heart, aching, didn’t provide anything else, “I didn’t know…” 

“And I didn’t fucking ask.” Alexander cut him off, ready to continue. He jammed the heel of his palm across his face again, smearing tears more than wiping them. Thomas had the urge to grab his wrist and force him to stop hurting himself, but he was still frozen. Alex was a dyslexic. The kid’s chest heaved in for another breath. 

“The scar is none of your fucking business, so take your opinion and shove it right back up your ass where it came from.” he spat, pain lacing his voice. Thomas’s face contorted in anger. 

“Don’t you dare talk to me like--”   
“ _ I’m  _ answering your questions.” Alex cut him off, voice raised to a yell that rang in the small bathroom. He pointed aggressively up in Thomas’s face, “ _ You  _ don’t want to understand what this is. So stop asking to ease your own damn conscience.” he accused,

“and, you know what, speaking of your conscience, you want to know something, Saint Jefferson?” he asked rhetorically, interrupting before Thomas could put a word in. He jerked his finger again as if he wanted to jam it right up Thomas’s fucking eye socket. 

“ _ I  _ was getting better. I was always teaching myself--even when I wanted to put bullets in the brain of everyone around me--how to read like you. I studied.  _ I  _ worked hard when stupid glasses didn't do shit. And I was doing  _ fine _ .” Alexander spat, his lips curling as the sobs took over, a trainwreck. Thomas could only stand there and try to survive the storm. 

“And then  _ you  _ sent me away for a year.  _ You _ , Thomas.” he sobbed, basically smacking his own face again as he wiped it off, “So try this on for size: don’t  _ fucking  _ critisize me for what I can’t hide.” 

His voice came out as a whispering whimper. His lip quivered dangerously, and Thomas watched him begin to fall apart. His hazel eyes were red and puffy, streaming tears. And they brimmed with  _ loathing _ . He shook his head slowly. 

“Because  _ you  _ took that away from me.” he whispered, voice cracking. Thomas’s brows twitched upwards as Alexander more or less crumpled, forward, placing his elbows on the high sink counter and letting his brow fall into his hand. His teeth were gritted in sheer pain as he covered his eyes, not rubbing, not moving. 

For a long minute, he just tried to breathe… he was not crying. This wasn’t happening; he was  _ not  _ crying in front of  _ Thomas Jefferson _ . But his back vibrated every couple seconds with an utterly silent sob. 

For a time, they both just stood there with an  _ overwhelming  _ sense of awkwardness. The tension in the tiny room was so thick it was torture; they were both so massively uncomfortable. Humiliated. 

Alex’s long hair hung down over his hand and face, but tears splattered onto the counter at uneven intervals. The absolute awkwardness was unmentionable; the awkwardness of crying in front of someone you barely know and not knowing exactly what to do. Thomas couldn’t stand it.    
The grimacing, weeping, what he had inadvertently done. He licked his lips, still standing in the doorway like an idiot. God, he should do something,  _ anything _ . Was it really his fault? A minute passed in silence. Two..

“Don’t guilt trip yourself, Jefferson.” Alex’s voice was raspy. He didn’t lift his hand, “You don’t have to stand there like a moron and throw me a fucking pity party. I don’t want it.” the sniper shuffled his bare feet on the floor, equally as uncomfortable. He shifted his weight and ran both hands up his face.

“Please, just go away.” he slurred around a heavy-feeling tongue. Thomas rubbed a hand across his mouth, exhaling. 

“Allie--”   
“Jefferson.” Alex’s voice was dead serious, “Go. Away. Now.” it wavered, “Garage at eight A.M. I have guns to prepare. Goodnight.” 

The heart stopped beating in Thomas’s chest. He wished James were here; he wished anyone that had had normal relationships in their lives were here. Did he stay, did he leave? What the hell was he supposed to do? 

He could take apart a car and put it back together; he could save a person within an inch of their lives with a single scalpel and some stitches, and right now, he felt useless in all his efforts. He shifted, dress pants rubbing against his thighs as he looped a thumb under his belt, digging a thumb nail into the leather. He shifted his weight awkwardly. He had an idea; coax the boy back downstairs and read it for him. Just… apologize. Say he was wrong to jump on him like that… but no words came to him. 

Without the consent of his own mind, he numbly turned away. His fingertips offhandedly found the edge of the door, and he pushed it enough to leave the sniper in peace, but not click shut. He wanted to say something, but before he could figure out what the  _ hell  _ had just happened, he was already thumping down the stairs and too far away to turn back to him. 

Thomas clenched his jaw and let go of his belt which he had thoroughly placed a crescent-shaped indent in with his nail. On an impulse, he whipped out his phone and paced around the living room in slow, restless circles, listening to the dial tone, but before he could hear James’s voice or James’s voicemail, Thomas firmly shook his head and punched the hangup icon like they had bad blood. 

Don't call James; this would be too complicated to explain. Explain why he cared.

With a frustrated sigh, Thomas plunked down on the couch and leaned his head against the back. Why should he care? This was fucking ridiculous; how was he supposed to know that Alex had trouble reading? He unbuttoned his collar and ground his jaw. If this was what other people dealt with, count him the fuck out, but then he was stuck back in the same mental loop again.

He hated Alexander’s emotionless, stone-cold, superficial charm, manipulative ass. But in the first time that he got emotional, Thomas hated it too. Maybe he hated it for a different reason…   
As his thoughts did to him as they will, his head fell exhaustedly to the side. And that was when he saw it again. 

The case file. Sitting right next to him on the couch. Thomas blinked, the room seeming to fall into a hush.

  
For a moment, he just stared at it, the sinister metal case that emanated a dark sort of power. For a moment, it felt to him more like a person than an object. A foreboding personification. Like he was sitting beside Elizabeth Schuyler, the girl crossing her legs and leaning back against the couch too, bobbing her combat boots boredly. 

She’d look across at him, the hair that fell to her chin framing her face and pretty monolid dark eyes, ear piercings glinting in the apartment light.    
_ “Well. You gonna open it?”  _ She’d speak in her semi-bored yet still demanding tone. 

Thomas licked his lips as the thought disappeared… and he reached across the cushion to pull it towards himself. He’d seen Alexander do this. He had done this himself with his own confidential case file. 

With it settled on his dress pants in his lap, he found the notch and pressed with his fingernail for the iris-identification. He grimaced and winced when it was blinding, but it was over soon, and he blinked, eyes watering a tad. He hoped Alexander couldn’t hear the metal shinking of the mechanisms within sliding into place, but it was over within an instant.  With his large, tanned hands, Thomas didn’t hesitate like Alexander had, didn’t draw the process out. Better to get things over with--like he didn’t have enough on his mind already. The driver darted his hand over his face briefly and realized he was holding his breath as he flipped the lid open, simple as a laptop. 

The screen took a moment to ignite, a blinding white in his eyes. He grunted and squinted at the intrusion, eyes still sensitive from the scanning, but as he peered back and blinked away the blur…. He saw. 

His black eyes followed the blinking cursor, leading way for letters that followed. His heart rate accelerated exponentially, his breath quickening, his eyes widening to take everything in at first glance. He leaned forward, pulled the file closer on his lap. 

“HEED THE NAME”

POKGXATRXNQF

“Heed the name…” Thomas whispered under his breath, shuffling on the couch in his stiff clothing.    
“What the…” he blinked, utterly lost at the sequence of seemingly random letters. No wonder Alexander couldn’t read this part; nobody could. There was no rhyme or reason except for the first part in quotations. Heed the name…. 

His breath caught a bit when the cursor began to paint a chart. Alexander hadn’t been lying, but this time, Thomas could read it. He scanned, ebony eyes flicking back and forth, the stark white screen reflecting within them. Five by five columns of letters. Thomas’s lips moved silently, mouthing them in their segments of five from left to right. 

“NYCAB...DEFGH...IKLMO…” he waited for the last two to appear, a bit of a lag. He exhaled slowly when it was all over… almost in relief as he reclined against the couch, “PQRST...UVWXZ…” he formed the letters with his warm lips pressed against his knuckle. 

And that was it. The cursor halted and blinked at the bottom right corner of the chart as if to mock him. He could almost hear Eliza’s deep voice: a huffed laugh.    
_ “All yours, Tom.”  _

The voice seemed to echo in his head… along with another thought. Alexander had been right. It was inevitable. He used to be a surgeon, and he still carried that with him as an FBI agent; it was a part of him he could never shake even if he wanted.

Agent Schuyler was a cryptographer…. 

And this was a cipher. Just as Washington had said, just as Alexander had said. It was real life. Thomas quietly closed the lid, ceasing the blinding light and black typewriter-font letters. His fingers tapped restlessly against his palm as he cast a glance upstairs to the loft where Alexander was somewhere in the bathroom… where he had left him. 

It was only natural. Thomas stood and left the secured file in its place on the couch. He couldn’t look at it; he wouldn’t look at it alone, try to begin sorting it out by himself. He never had in his life, and he wasn’t about to start now. 

He would wait. Because he needed his partner to get anything done, even when it felt like Alexander was a distraction of an ascended level, a burden. In the year that he’d been gone, it had only been highlighted in screaming neon for Thomas to see: no replacements of Alexander worked. None fit with him like a puzzle piece like Alex did--it just didn’t happen. A puzzle piece that frustrated and infuriated him, confused and manipulated him, that he wanted to slit his throat half the time. But they were partners whether they liked it or not. 

The only partners that would work with one another. 

He needed Alexander. And when he came back down, he’d be ready for him, no matter what it took.

* * *

  
The clicking of computer keys was the only sound in the office along with the occasional pause. The scratching of Midnight Blue Crayola marker on dry paper. The thin kind of marker. Thomas pushed his chair in closer to the desk with a rolling of wheels and flipped over another note card in front of his belly on the desk. He scribbled down the word with one capital letter and the rest lowercase. 

“Cab” 

He uncapped the maroon, underlined the “C”, and sniffed, placed it on top of the pile before leafing through the blank notecards on the other side of his laptop. He gave the screen a quick glance for the next word as he thumbed the following blank card off the top and wrote in his neatest handwriting:   
“Act.” Underline the “A”. File it on top of the others. It was therapeutic to do this, falling into a rhythm, finding the beat in his movements. And it didn’t feel like a burden to him. It wasn’t exhausting. It felt like the right thing to be doing, even if it made the overthinking side of him scream to overthink this some more. He ignored it. 

_ “You took that away from me…”  _ Alex’s words echoed in his head, but they wouldn’t for long. He may have inadvertently taken it away.

But he was about to put in the work to give it back. He was making notecards to help Alexander learn to read again. He was going to give back.

* * *

Thomas opened his eyes with a sharp gasp that stabbed at his lungs, sucking the air in as if a clenched fist had just been released from his throat. The tendons in his neck popped, glistening with sweat as the sharp noise echoed. 

“Hh...hh...hh…” he panted heavily, eyes bulging as he glanced around himself, head whipping back and forth. His hair was slicked with sweat, he could tell, and some trickled down his spine. He was in a room with no walls or ceiling, only black. The floor below him was a shiny black marble that gave off nearly no light; it seemed to absorb it. 

_ “Thomas…”  _ a voice echoed. It came from everywhere, and Thomas  _ jolted  _ as if electrocuted. The echo ebbed away… and he couldn’t tell if it was inside his head or all around him. Perhaps... both. 

“Randolph?” Thomas’s voice cracked uncharacteristically, and he pivoted to the side, heart whamming in his chest, roaring in his ears until it was deafening.

“I don’t…” Thomas sputtered, shaking his head and looking up above him. There was nothing but an endless void and for a sickening, nauseating moment, he had the unnatural sensation that he was looking down not up, and that he was about to fall into oblivion. 

Thomas grunted a cry of surprise and looked back down. Where the hell was he; what the hell was this hellish place? This wasn't anywhere he knew, anywhere he'd ever been or seen. But when he was encountered with a face  _ right  _ in front of his, he stumbled back two steps, tripping over his own feet. The person in front of him stumbled back two steps in… perfect synchronization with him. As Thomas adopted a defensive stance, adrenaline screaming in his ears, so did the figure.

Only then did he understand that he was staring into a mirror. Glowing slightly, the only light source in this place. But…

His black eyes scanned the glass up and down. The person on the other side wasn’t him. Not even close. 

“Alexander?” he breathed the words as if horrified, face contorting in terrified confusion. When he moved his lips, Alex’s didn’t move… but as he slowly crept a step closer, Alexander did. The boy's lips curled into his devilish smile, his hazel eyes glinting. But something about him was off. He was adorned only in the starchy, white garb of the penitentiary. Of the asylum. Sitting heavily on his face was the iron muzzle, caging his mouth but allowing his pretty lips and perky nose to be seen behind it. 

Thomas’s heart dropped. 

He stood up straight, and Alexander did too. He just… stared. The boy’s gorgeous locks spilled down his neck, almost reaching his shoulders, combed neatly and tucked behind his ears. His eyes were bright with dangerous, manipulative intelligence, glinting with that same cocky, “I know something you don’t know” air, and Thomas stood. Just staring at him. Until his reflection spoke to him. 

_ “Thomas.”  _ it spoke simply… but the voice wasn’t Alexander’s high, smug tone. It was richer, smooth, and somehow always reminded one of warm, thick dark chocolate. There was only one voice like that, playful and slightly self-conscious, a little unsure. Randolph. Alexander was speaking with…Randolph’s voice ?    
Thomas furrowed his brows. 

“I don’t…” he trailed off, voice shaking as if it would shatter, “I don’t understand.”   
_ “I don’t expect you to.”  _ It still seemed to be coming from everywhere,  _ “And that’s okay, Tommy. It’s okay to not understand everything all the time, you know.” _

“I know. I know.” he nodded a little too quickly, a lump forming like a fist shoved down his throat, “Where are you, Randy? Can I see you?” His tone was far more desperate than it ever should sound. It didn’t sound like him as he took a large stride up to the mirror, but Alexander’s eyes halted him. He raised a brow above the muzzle. 

_ “You  _ can _ see me.”  _

“No.” Thomas shook his head, “I just…” he swept the boy up and down, “See Alexander. I want to see you; where are you, buddy?” using the familiar address for his friend caused him to clench his jaw, muscle grinding at his temple. Now wasn’t the time to get emotional, not when he sensed he didn’t have much left. Alexander calmly shook his head with a cunning glance.

_ “You don’t understand.”  _

“No. I don’t.” Thomas began to get frustrated, sensing himself slipping away, “Make me understand.” he placed his hand up to the mirror, and Alexander did the same, locking eyes with him in a moment of electricity. He spoke from behind the muzzle.

_ “I want to, Tommy. But you won’t.”  _

“Why not? Try me.” Thomas shook his head incredulously, shifting his weight impatiently as if it would give him answers on site. Alex just rapped his fingertips against the glass.

_ “Because you refuse to. In order to understand me, you have to understand Alexander. What you don’t want to believe is that you, me… him. We’re one and the same. We’ve always been one... you know it, don't you?”  _ Alex spoke calmly with Randolph’s comforting voice, nodding along coolly with his words behind that wretched iron thing. Thomas’s heart thudded against his ribs as if pining to tear out. 

_ “We’re connected, Tommy, since the day we met. It was inevitable. Allie never liked me… and that’s okay.”  _ he met eyes directly with Thomas, his next words building up in importance. They were crucial. 

_ “You don’t want to believe that killing me was the hardest thing he ever did.”  _ The voice was crystal clear, ringing and echoing in the boundless, velvety black void. Thomas shook his head in confusion, but Alexander pressed on.

_ “The sniper is a cancer. A terminator. He… exterminates human life like a disease... without a second thought. He can’t feel what he does, Tommy. But killing me… was the most difficult thing he ever had to do. Because of you.”  _

“What?” Thomas scoffed in pained disbelief, “What did I do?”   
Alexander shook his head, almost condescendingly, and Thomas’s blood spiked. His head was spinning; his temper was rising in frustration.   
_ “You don’t understand--”  _

“Fuck--Stop  _ saying  _ that!” Thomas roared, spittle flying from his mouth in a sudden burst of rage. The veins in his neck popped and throbbed in fury. He panted, exhausted mentally. Alex waited a moment in the deafening silence before speaking again, still in Randolph’s voice.

_ “Let me show you.”  _

The echo amplified, signalling the departure of Randolph. Thomas glanced around, up and behind him, hair flinging. He was about to call out for his lost friend until… he felt it. He didn’t move. 

A warm… wet trickle oozed on his left side. It seeped, dripping down beneath his sweat-soaked shirt, a steady stream at first. He paused, heart stopping. Breath stopping. Time stopping. No...

“Thomas…” A tiny voice spoke. It wavered, nervous and frightened, and it was Alexander’s voice this time. The high, mocking tone now helpless, almost unrecognizable. Slowly, Thomas rotated his head back around on his neck, lips twitching in utter terror as he saw… in the mirror in front of him, a rich, violent shade of scarlet bloomed like a rose on Alexander’s left side. The boy was looking down on it, face tilted down to stare. 

Thomas did the same as if controlled by another’s actions, a puppet as he gazed down to see that he too was wearing a white asylum shirt… and a bullethole stain was pumping, flowing blood that spread in a streak and seeped into the fabric like a spreading poison.

His breath caught in his throat in utter  _ horror _ , and he looked back up into the mirror. Alexander stared at him, terror-stricken in his round, white eyes. 

“Thomas…” he spoke again in his panicky voice, more urgent this time. The warmth spread as Thomas could do nothing, only stand and watch in the mirror, adrenaline rushing through his body as another bullet hole appeared beneath the boy’s shirt. And another. And another…

“Oh my God, Thomas…. _ help  _ me!” Alex cried out, bringing his hands to his abdomen to try and desperately hold the blood in. It slicked his hands, coating them in a glistening, warm sheen of dark crimson. Thomas panicked. He  _ panicked _ . He looked down at his own body, vision funneling into a tiny line of sight as he counted the holes. Seven. Seven bullet holes in his body. His shirt was soaked; he could smell the vile, metallic reek of blood. It flooded his senses; it engulfed him.

And when he looked back up… Alexander’s muzzle hid the mess beneath. 

But to the floor at his feet, rapidly splattering seeping drops of sanguine blood spilled out of the muzzle, coating the iron brutally. The last thing Thomas saw before he screamed was Alexander’s wide eyes and bloodied mouth…

That made it eight. Eight shots. 

“ _ Thomas!  _ Open the fucking door!” The words being roared, jolted Thomas awake from his deep sleep, yanking him violently back to consciousness to feel the  _ stabbing  _ pain behind his eyes.    
“Rrr! Fuck!” Thomas boomed, and on reflex, his legs kicked, curling in as his shoulder met the cold backboard, pressing his bare skin against it. He was up in a sitting position, legs thrashing away the tangled comforter with a rustling noise that pierced his eardrums. He knew the feeling in a heartbeat. A migraine. 

He continued to flail, and from the door, Alexander hardly hesitated a second. 

The kid turned the knob and kicked open the door with his bare foot, sending it flinging against the inside wall with a bang and lancing pain of impact from his heel up his calf. Thomas roared, both hands smacking to his head. Alex glanced around, in a low defensive stance as he flicked the lights on beside him and whipped his head back and forth, bedhead flinging around his shoulders that were lifted to carry his assault rifle. His eyes were blurry from sleep; his mind was foggy and bleary, but his body was waking up with surging adrenaline from being jerked awake by screaming. 

“Get down, bastard.” Alex barked instinctively, pointing the muzzle of his gun back and forth around the room, “On the fucking floor.  _ Now _ .” spittle flew as he spat the command but… in the blinding light, he squinted, blinked, and saw nothing. Nobody other than himself and Thomas were in the room.

“Shut  _ up _ !” Thomas boomed, pressing hard against the backboard, shirtless. Alexander could see over the muzzle of his gun Thomas’s muscular sides expanding and retracting at a backbreaking pace. His smooth, tanned skin glistened with sweat droplets over his back and shoulders. His biceps were flexed with tension, both hands up around his head over his ears. Alexander stood, gun still at the ready and watched Thomas’s strong hands bury and dig into his black hair, clenching over it. His teeth were gritted, his jaw tense. 

“Don’t tell me to shut up.” Alexander spat indignantly, finger on the trigger, “I’m the one falling down the stairs in the middle of the night with an assault rifle thinking I’m about to murk your attacker.” his tone was patronizing, voice raised, “What the fuck are you screaming for, dickbag?” 

Thomas just panted, his whole body seeming to flex as his teeth ground harder, his hands pressing painfully against his ears.    
“Ahhhg…” he grimaced, groaning sharply, “Alexander.” he heaved for air, “I can’t…” he broke off into an agonizing wince. Alexander rolled his eyes and lowered his gun. 

“What? Are you having a stroke?” he questioned rhetorically, “Want me to call an ambulance for you?”  
“ _Lower your voice_ **_please_**.” Thomas roared… but this time his tone wasn’t so demanding as it was… pleading. Alex’s hard facial expression softened. He fully lowered his gun. Something wasn't right. 

“What’s…” Alex scanned him up and down again, feeling awkward standing there in his underwear, barefoot on the carpet floor in the dead of night, “What’s going on?”   
“Turn… turn off the lights.”   
“Why?” Alex made a dirty face, but his eyes shot open when Thomas roared again. 

“ _ I’m having a migraine, goddamnit, turn off the lights _ !” he spat harshly, spooking Alexander who jumped to fumble at the light pad.    
“Okay, okay, lights off.” he spoke, lower now, but a little shaken. Thomas sucked air through his teeth in hissing breaths, obviously struggling for air. 

Alex dangled the rifle by its butt at his right side and raked a hand through his tangled bedhead. For a few moments, he was at a loss of what the hell he was supposed to be doing. 

“Uh,” he looked around the room aimlessly, “what do you--what do I do?” he spoke, utterly useless and lost in the dark space. Thomas kept panting lowly from where he was jammed up against the headboard in his sheets, and Alex tried to speak again, “Should I leave you alone--”   
“No.” Thomas responded far too quickly whereas Alexander hadn’t even thought he’d been listening. The boy blinked, surprised. 

“Alright then what--”   
“Kitchen. Left of the dishwasher.” Thomas spoke rapidly, obviously pained to be speaking, “Um, um, um…” he squeezed his eyes shut, begging his throbbing, pounding brain to produce a coherent sentence. It was like a needle being hammered directly through his soft temple into his sensitive, swollen brain, “Nurtec. Lavender Oil.” he listed, bobbing his head with each word, which he immediately regretted. 

Alexander ran another hand through his hair, trying to quietly lean his terrifying assault rifle up against the wall and diving forward when it slipped and fell to the floor with a scraping sound of drywall.    
“Shit, shit, shit, sorry.”   
“Just go. God…” he spat on an exhale, pain searing through his head. Alex left his rifle where it was, abandoned on the floor against the wall, as he turned back around where he’d come from and walked out the door. By the time he was in the hallway, his heart was still thundering from the shock, and he had the need to run, an urgency. His bare feet smacked against the cold hardwood, shocking him more to awakeness as he turned into the kitchen. 

The bleary-eyed sniper crouched down by the dishwasher, feet on the freezing tile. 

“Nurtec, Nurtec… Nurtec…” he whispered over and over to himself, breathless as he slid open drawers and rifled through them, shuffling around the contents before moving up to the next one. Leidles and metal spatulas clanged as he pushed them aside and huffed, slamming it shut and standing back up, both knees popping. 

He pulled open the top one and was relieved to hear the characteristic rattling of medicinal pill bottles that he knew too well. 

“Okay…” he breathed, lifting them up one in each hand to check the labels and set them back down messily. They were all large, one-word, and with colored logos, so it was easy to make out. But what Alex was shocked by the most was the sheer… amount of them. Rows and rows, all neatly aligned. He messed up their order, but it was dark in the kitchen at night, only a dim glow from the “skyline” to light his way. 

“Nurtec.” he sighed in relief, setting it up on the counter as he continued. Finding Lavender Oil was easier, it wasn’t in a pill bottle so much as a brown glass one and lavender was depicted on the front. He lifted it into his palm and snatched the Nurtec with a rattle of pills and bumped the drawer closed with his hip as he set back off. 

His mind was fuzzy with sleep, perhaps not thinking straight, and he didn’t understand why his heart was beating so hard and uncomfortably in his chest. He could stand, eerily calm with five guns pointed at his head and just smirk, unworried. Roll his shoulders back and slowly cock his chin, cunning. But now, with Thomas having a migraine--which he didn’t know Thomas had ever experienced,  _ and  _ he didn’t know was anything more than a headache--he felt distraught. 

The way the man had pressed the heels of his palms to his ears in a way that could split his skull, the way he begged Alex to quiet down so far from emotionless and stone-cold. It was weird. It didn’t feel like a game with Thomas as another chess piece to claim. It felt real. 

Alex pushed the door open with his shoulder and stepped inside. He needn’t worry about stepping too loudly; he was naturally stealthier than a kid creeping to eat shredded cheese out of the fridge at three A.M., but he didn’t think of it either. He was about to speak but then swallowed, lowering his register uncomfortably, not used to this, but never one to slowly acclimate to a new situation. 

“Hey.” he more or less whispered, stepping up to the foot of the bed. He looked down into his hands in the dark and then back up to the dark shape that was probably Thomas; it was hard to tell.    
“Hey, ah, I got your shit.” For a scary moment there was no response. The sniper raised his chin and rounded the corner of the bed to the side that he knew Thomas liked to sleep on, the left, and halted. In the darkness, he could hardly make out what the fuck he was seeing in front of him, but it was fairly simple. Thomas lay on his back, blankets sitting low on his hips that moved slightly beneath them. 

He had one hand resting on his upper thigh. Well, restless. His fingers tapped rapidly and unevenly. His breathing had gotten better, but he still had one hand tangled up in his hair, wrist in front of his face.

“Do you want me ta--” he stopped when he saw Thomas’s hand knotted against his scalp. Suddenly, Alex’s brows furrowed down.    
“Why’re you doing that?” 

Thomas didn’t respond but to grimace and lift the hand off his hip to swipe for the medicine bottles. Alexander glowered, holding them out of reach from the aimless swing. 

“Hey. cut it the fuck out; you’re gonna take one of our dicks off and we need those.”   
“Axelander.” Thomas incorrectly groaned his name painfully in a way that would definitely be saying “not the fucking time, bitch” if he had his wits about him. Alex just raised his chin arrogantly.

“Look, McDreamy, I didn’t go to Harvard Med, but I know you’re putting pressure on your head by doing that.” Alexander whispered, trying to keep his cool, “If you want your Xanes, put your hand down.” 

Alexander’s own words surprised him. Not the way he said them, of course--with maximum sarcasm and snark--but why he was saying them. He’d usually toss the bottles on the bed, salute, and say something like “have fun with that. Lick my balls later, then”. He listened to Thomas exhale deeply, sifting his hand out of his sweaty hair and lowering it down to the bed. While it was outlined in the dark for a brief moment, Alexander saw that it was trembling. So out of character, but it made him swallow. 

“Okay…” Alexander breathed mostly to himself, pushing down on the plastic lid, trying to produce minimal rattling as he twisted and uncapped the pills, shaking out one into his hand. It was larger than he would have thought, and he twisted around, craning behind him to see if there was a water glass. None. Maybe on the other side.

He quickly skirted the bed, hand skimming the black sheets for guidance as he made it to the other nightstand and closed his fingers around a cool glass after a couple attempts. He smiled to himself in the dark and turned his face back to Thomas, stepping close to the bedside. 

“Take… this.” Alexander groped for Thomas’s hand and found it at his hip. The sniper’s small fingers curled around his thick wrist and turned his hand up to firmly place the pill in it.    
“And take…” he twisted again, lifting the water glass on the nightstand, “This.” he whispered, “Don’t spill any, cause I’m not cleaning at two A.M. That’s on you.” he grumbled, a little too loud, and Thomas ground his jaw.

“Voice, Alexander.” the kid didn’t respond, ignoring him. He was too deep in his task of trying to map out how to open the lavender oil bottle. While Thomas tossed back the pill, he explored with his nail to discover it was a twisting top, but when he pulled it out, something clinked--glass on glass--around the rim. It was a pipette bottle. He looked up to Thomas and back. And then he swung his knee up onto the bed. 

Thomas grunted.   
“What in fuck’s name do you think you’re doing…?” he growled, still retaining his bitterness towards Alexander in his condition. The kid climbed forward on his knees until he was up beside Thomas. He could see the man’s belly rising and falling, abs clenched in stress. 

“Where does the flower stuff go?” he could already scent the sharp, lavender aroma. Thomas paused. 

“Hamillton…” he huffed a long, low sigh, “You don’t have to--”   
“Ababajaba--just shut up.” Alexander cut him off, “I’m quite aware I don’t have to do shit, Jefferson. But the quicker you stop whining, the quicker we both get to go to sleep the quicker we’re streaking in the Nightcrawler through downtown DC, so.” he scooted closer, breathlessly concluding his comment, “Just tell me where the flower stuff goes.” he sighed. 

Thomas didn’t have much will in him to give in. His nightmare still echoed off the walls of his head, clinging to him like a shadow. Alexander’s helpless look as eight bullet holes drained his little body of blood… still caged in the cruelty of the muzzle. One so lethally intelligent treated like a shunned animal. Why was Alexander helping him? 

“Temples.” Thomas grunted. He’d made his decision. 

“Huh?”   
“You asked where it goes: it goes on my temples.”   
“Oh.” Alex was impressed at the lack of resistance from his hard headed partner. He jumped into action, used the rubber part of the pipette to suction some of the fragrant oil and tap on the edge of the glass to shake off the excess. Thomas hissed a sharp breath between his teeth at the noise, and Alex whispered a brief apology, extra careful as he squeezed the buttery, sebaceous substance on his fingertips.

It wasn’t easy in the dark. When he had a good accumulation, he squeezed the glass bottle between his bare thighs, struck with a wave of goosebumps. He hadn’t realized how chilly he was, only in his underwear. Now for the difficult part. 

“Keep your thick head still unless you want it in your eyes.” Alexan der was gripped by the  _ potent  _ urge to add “that’s what he said”, but he refrained as he bent over Thomas, careful to scout out where he was putting his knees so he didn’t put it through Thomas’s face. 

“Alright flower boy....” Alexander mumbled to himself as he lowered his fingertips down to the side of Thomas’s head, finding the target. 

“Don’t… call me that.” Thomas breathed in exhaustion, but Alexander thoroughly ignored him, fingertips slicking in circles over the warm, throbbing temple. He sat back up, dipping the pipette in the bottle between his thighs. 

“Good news is, even if your brain swells three sizes it’ll finally fit your fucking skull.” 

“Not how it works. Stop talking.” Thomas grunted dryly, and Alex bit his tongue. Clearly, Thomas wasn’t in the mood. Alex couldn’t see his face, which was an odd sensation for him: he couldn’t read his microexpressions. But he could hear it in his voice; his mind was on something else. Not just because he had a migraine. 

Alexander finished spreading the oil on the opposite temple and sat back on his knees, huffing a sigh. It was then that he realized Thomas’s breathing was completely quiet. A shot of adrenaline lanced through his chest. He couldn't have passed out from the pain, could he? Alexander didn't know anything about this.

“Thomas?” he whispered. There was an overexaggerated inhale and annoyed exhale. 

“Can I help you?” was the response, and Alex smiled to himself in relief. 

“No, thought you just fucking died or something.” he laughed under his breath, “Not that I care; I just need a chauffeur.” he added quickly. Thomas didn’t respond. 

After a few moments of silence, Alexander bit his tongue and nodded. A question rang from the tiny voice in the back of his head. He quickly pushed it away, but it came back even stronger the second time. 

“Hey, uh.” his own tone made him cringe. It sounded like John Laurens for some reason, not himself, “Why are you migraineing?” For five seconds there was no response. Finally, the sheets shuffled, the lump shifting beneath them as Thomas bent one leg against the mattress. 

“Did you just use... migraine as a verb?” his tone was flat, and Alex shrugged.   
“Add it to Alexander’s Dictionary.” he laughed a bit morbidly, referencing a little thing the pair used to do before Randolph arrived. 

Every time Alex came up with a new word that absolutely didn’t exist, they’d “put it in Alexander’s Dictionary: A Book of Genuine and Ongoing Idiocy”. Thomas didn’t laugh, but he shuffled, uncomfortable. The question was to answer or not to answer. He could see the faint outline of the boy above him, his tangled, knotty hair at his shoulders, his slim frame. This was the deadliest sniper in the world. Randolph’s words echoed in his head…

_ “The sniper is a cancer. A terminator. He… exterminates human life like a disease...He can’t feel what he does, Tommy.” _

But...He’d run down in the dead of night, gotten out of bed to make sure he was okay. He’d found the right medicine, even given him water… All after Thomas had humiliated and mocked him. He squeezed his eyes shut, accepting the inevitable, allowing the bizarreness to just  _ be _ . Tonight had been a weird night for the both of them. 

“Had migraines all my life, Hamilton. Just another day for me.” he grumbled, groggy and croaky. Alex’s brows twitched down. That didn’t make sense.    
“Not that I ever remember.” Thomas wetted his lips, preparing himself for a moment of sheer bravery. 

“They stopped when I met you.” he dared to speak. There was a beat of hesitation.   
“Oh.” Alex bit his lip and nodded even though Thomas couldn’t see him, “Alright.”

“Mm.” the man grunted. But that wasn’t the full truth. An awkward silence followed, and two voices sparred violently in his pounding, throbbing skull; one screamed at him to stop--screamed at him to remember who he was talking to, the monster he was revealing himself to--and the other quietly reminded him that he’d never feel guiltless if he withheld the truth. 

“They started again after Randolph. With nightmares. That’s all you need to know.”   
“Nightmares of what?” Alexander’s side of him that insatiably sought information for his own good piped up on reflex. He winced, “Nevermind, not important.” he shrugged as if it didn’t even matter to him, reaching down to chew on his sweatshirt string but realizing it wasn’t there. In fact, it was fucking freezing without his clothes on. He cast a glance at the door. 

Adapting to situations in record time with baffling precision was his specialty. But no matter what he tried, this wasn’t working for him. He couldn’t find the right amount of charm, attitude, or snark to adopt in this situation; it wasn’t computing. The final solution that his brain produced was simple. Hightail it the fuck out of there. He tucked a gnarl behind his ear.   
“Well. Have fun storming the castle.” Alex stood up on his knees with a rustle, wedging the bottle out from between his legs, but he lurched to a stop when a hand clamped down on his wrist. Strong. 

“Whoa there.” Alex laughed a bit, trying to roll it but unable. Thomas’s large, warm hand overpowered him easily, “Keep it in your pants, hotshot, I can wait a few hours--”   
“I’m sorry.”   


Thomas’s voice cut off his inappropriate comment. Alex was utterly silent. The room was silent. The world felt silent, hushed. 

“Wow. Someone’s having hallucinations.” Alexander laughed, trying to lighten the mood, but Thomas’s dark, serious tone interrupted him again. 

“Shut it, fucker. I am. I’m sorry.” he spoke again. Alex shook his head.    
“I don’t--”   
“Come down, I can’t… talk this loud.” 

The sniper was befuddled as to what he meant until he felt Thomas’s fingers squeeze his wrist, trying to pull him forth. Alexander wanted to flee. He felt his heart begin to patter. 

“Look, Jefferson, you don’t have to--”   
“I don’t have to do  _ anything _ , asshole. But you do. Come here.” his tone was his usual firm, demanding drawl, short and snappy. Alexander couldn’t refuse an order like that. 

He mumbled something under his breath as he tossed the closed lavender bottle to the foot of the bed with a little “poof” in the comforter as he himself slid down and slipped beneath the covers. It was warm under there, heated by Thomas’s trapped body heat, and Alexander could nearly feel his blood pressure drop. In the warmth, as he placed his head down on Thomas’s long pillow, he realized how exhausted he was. The training, the meeting, the Schuyler file… he was drained. 

Thomas closed his eyes, head still facing up. Alexander was laid on his side, facing towards him, but Thomas didn’t even look at him.    
“You were right.” he whispered. Alexander didn’t add a single word. But he did press closer. 

When their skin made contact, it was electric. Alex could feel Thomas breathing, the warmth radiating from his slightly damp flesh. Thomas drew in a deep breath.   
“The Schuyler file. It’s a cipher.” 

Alex’s jaws parted. A cipher. He had been right. 

“I knew it…” Alexander breathed, so quiet it was nearly inaudible. For a few moments they laid there in silence, Alexander contemplating in awe while Thomas struggled. Struggled with the pressure in his cranium. What were they going to do…? This was such a fucking mess. How did they get here? It was like an odd dream how fate threw them together. A psychopathic dyslexic teenager and a bad-tempered, migraine-prone ball of grudge-holding hatred tossed together to hunt down two all-important people. 

The driver rarel felt overwhelmed… but now, in this bed with the teenager he could never escape and loathed, he was overwhelmed at the task in front of them. Of what they were about to have to do. Before, it had felt distant, but now it hit him. This was real. They were going on that mission in twenty-four hours. Out of nowhere, Thomas spoke once again.   
“Could you--”   
“I’ll go.” Alexander filled in immediately, sensing his intentions and not wanting to be told to leave, rather it be his own decision. He opened his chest to roll away, but before he knew what was happening, there was an arm around his waist. His eyes widened. 

“Don’t finish my fucking sentences.” he grumbled, “I was going to ask you to stay.”   
Alex froze. Was this a trick? His heart beat rapidly in his chest. 

“Stay? Me?”   
“No, the Queen of England--yes you.” Thomas croaked, fingers twitched on Alex’s back before stilling themselves. Alex blinked.    
“This morning you said--”

“I know what I said. I know. Just…” Thomas clipped the sentences shortly, squeezing his eyes shut to just put it to rest, “Today was twenty-four hours of shit. It was long and shitty for everyone involved, so can we just…” he pursed his lips searching for words, “not?” 

Alex fell silent in indecision. 

Wasn’t this his objective? To get inside of Thomas’s head, to get closer? But… letting Thomas inside of his hadn’t been a part of the plan. It hadn’t been in the agenda, and yet after a meeting of pure manipulation on his part--success--he had cried in front of him. Exposed his most dearest secret, and now he was in bed after helping him wash down meds. For once, it wasn’t tilted to Alex’s side. They were even. 

The boy nodded, pressing closer. It wasn't a bad sensation, though it was new. Being even. 

“Okay.” was his only remark. Thomas breathed out as he moved, head hammering as he took his time to roll onto his side and reel Alexander in against his body. Alex didn’t know it, but it was easier for Thomas to sleep with a migraine when there was another heat source present, or pressure on his skin. Thomas gently nudged his knee against Alexander’s thighs, and the boy understood that Thomas was trying to gain access. Alex parted his knees, and Thomas slid his strong, heavy thigh between Alexander’s, tangling their legs up as he finally relaxed. 

His arm eased over Alex’s waist, his hand resting on the mattress against his back. 

The kid hitched a sigh when Thomas brushed his thumb lazily up and down his smooth skin. Alexander melted, and suddenly he wasn’t cold anymore. He allowed his head to curl under Thomas’s chin, fitting into his body like a puzzle piece as he eased his tense muscles. 

Thomas’s migraine began to subside...

  
  



	16. His Favorite Possession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Tuesday everyone! I hope you all have had an amazing week, and thank you so much for reading! I love you all, and always know that your support is my world 💕 every day. Much love to all of you!

Thomas’s eyes fluttered open early that morning, exactly how he had wanted them to. He took a deep breath in, lungs expanding widely for the first time of the day, stretching, but his body was still heavy, drowsy. He licked his lips, mouth dry from thirst as he shuffled his legs only to realize there was a weight on top of them. 

He blinked his eyes open again, lids heavy to see a face right before his. On first reaction, his heart leaped a beat in his chest, a jarring response to the sight, but it slowed as he gradually recalibrated his memories, recollecting the events of the past night. 

Alex’s face was half sunken into the deep, black satin of the pillow, but the half that he could see was very close to him… perhaps the closest he’d ever observed him. Thomas just… stared, dark eyes carefully darting over the aspects of his attractive, perky, young face. His eyes twitched peacefully below his lids with dreams, his dark lashes sweeping just under his eyes. Their legs, he noted, were tangled, warm skin-on-skin, but the rest of their bodies had shifted apart at some point in the night. Now, the boy slept with one hand curled up on the pillow beside his head and the other bent under the covers, a very natural sleeping position--very human. His curvy brows were relaxed, his facial muscles at ease, his lips slightly parted, but he breathed through his nose. 

Thomas’s brows twitched for a moment as he just squinted and pondered. He’d seen him sleep not too many nights ago, but today it struck him harder than ever. When he was asleep, he was so… calm, yes, but so  _ calming _ . He invoked no anxiety--almost ethereal in his peacefulness. His long hair was knotted with a few strands making a big loop out from his temple. Thomas turned his head up to the ceiling, laying on his side but twisting so his back lay comfortably on the bed, facing upwards. 

The sky had an ashy glow, signaling that dawn was on its way. 

Thomas closed his eyes for a moment and ran both hands through his hair. His migraine was completely gone, but he didn’t even feel… unrested. He opened his eyes, casting a glance down on Alexander. 

Had he really been able to fall asleep that well after the kid had come down? It didn't seem possible.

A part of Thomas that he didn't understand wanted to stay instead of go, to take advantage of the weirdly odd but peaceful presence of the usually erratic and stressful teenager. Would it be so bad...? Alexander wouldn't give to shits, he knew, if Thomas moved a little closer, wrapped him into his embrace for warmth and just exhaled, deeply, slowly, lungs deflating. The temptation was also partly because he just smelled so good; to just wrap in his scent and fall back to sleep would be easy. Alex's lazy ass would think nothing of it. He'd just think "ooh! Warm!" and fall right back asleep.

Thomas rubbed the hands down his face and over his eyes. The temptation would have to wait this morning. He had a place to be.

With utmost care and caution, Thomas turned his legs over to lay completely on his back and sat up, scooting his ass across the mattress into a sitting position and sank down. He rubbed his eyes and exhaled, reaching across to his nightstand to unplug his phone and bring it over. In the pre-dawn darkness, the screen lit a rectangle on his face, burning his bleary eyes a bit as he checked the time and ignored his notifications. Five A.M. Right where he wanted it to be. 

Alexander could stay in his bed; it wouldn’t make any difference anyway, so Thomas  _ quietly  _ pulled the covers aside, lifting his legs to swivel them out of bed and land on the floor. 

He paced to his closet over the carpet, the door already open as he stepped in and slid it closed with a soft click, all while his head was down, tapping on his phone to get the weather app. Rainy till nine, he noted, then it cleared up for most of the week. But damn, it was going to be chilly.

He traced his fingers down his hangers until he came to his black and gold Versace rain jacket and put it aside to wear. For the rest of his outfit, he only selected a plain long-sleeved, black shirt and Adidas sweatpants with three stripes up each side. Black balenciaga shoes would do--it was chilly and raining but it wasn’t about to snow at fifty-three degrees. 

As he dressed, he contemplated if he should leave Alexander a note--no--a text explaining where he went, but he knew full well the bitch would sleep until Thomas drove a Lambo through the wall, sleep through it, and sleep some more until the driver physically dragged his ass out of bed--clawing and complaining loudly. With a sinking in his chest… he realized it was probably best not to tell him at all. Not like he’d want to join. Never would he want to… 

Thomas stood in front of his mirror and zipped up his designer rain jacket, pulling the strings to be even with one another. He wasn’t used to informal wear--he hadn’t really worn much of it since going undercover two years ago on the trio’s final mission--so it felt odd. But he always vowed to do so when he was visiting the place he was headed. 

He sniffed, running two fingers under his nose as he walked out of the closet, re-checking the time. Five-oh-four. As he stepped out of the door, he stopped. He couldn’t help it. 

He couldn’t help the fact that his eyes settled on Alexander, still sleeping in his bed. Someone--another person--was sleeping in his bed, and it hit him. It was scary when he realized that it hadn't been an accident or a drunk hookup. He had asked him to stay. Had that even been him? It felt like another person, another reality, another dream.

The driver’s attention shifted in the dim darkness to the foot of the bed where the lavender oil bottle lay, right where Alex had put it. Thomas stepped up to it and curled his fingers around the cold glass, rolling it into his palm. That reminded him.

He traversed the side of the bed to the nightstand on Alex’s side where the Nurtec and glass of water were side-by-side, and he took the pill bottle in hand. But… his eyes kept finding their way back to Alex. Fuck it, what was the point of trying to ignore him anymore? He stopped, just thinking for a moment. 

The sniper hadn’t asked any question last night other than “What can I do?”. When Thomas had basically screamed at him that he was having a migraine, Alexander asked what he needed. He asked how to get it and where. Without even really thinking about what the fuck he was doing, Thomas extended his hand to the loop of hair that was sticking out and gently tugged, tucking it behind Alex’s ear with his thumb and index finger. When he was finished, he brushed over it a couple of times, just to feel the supple texture.

Alexander’s side rose and fell deeply beneath the covers as he breathed, alive.

Suddenly, he snapped out of it. He blinked, pulling his hand back as if burned, and he took a step away. This was… wrong. It didn’t feel so, but he knew so.  _ Especially  _ considering where the hell he was about to go. He averted his eyes, jaw tense as he turned away, turning his cheek, just getting out. He shouldn't even be here. 

Now was not the morning for confusion and temper. They had a drug mission to complete with the eyes of the media all on them. They had a mission of the century to prepare for as soon as they were home. He wouldn't think about last night--he refused to allow himself. 

  
Yet as Thomas stepped into the hallway, he caught sight of his office and the notecards he had left there. A neat stack of simple three and four letter words, colored and tied together with a single rubber band.

* * *

Thomas pulled into one of the many empty parking spaces and sniffed, turning the key in the ignition, and his car shuddered to a stop. He'd driven through some shitty gravel on the way in, which made his heart and should cringe at the pebbles tinkling on his car. Thank God above it wasn't the Nightcrawler. He always took the same car to come here: his four-seater, matte grey Lamborghini Aventador. It felt odd with those empty seats; he had been forced to use it as his main vehicle when Randolph joined and they couldn’t use the two-seater Nightcrawler for that time. Alexander had always grumbled about it, but he came around.

He cleared his throat, lifting himself up a bit to tuck his keys in his back pocket before leaning over to the other seat and grabbing the two items there. A small and generally cheap, folding camping chair and a box of Wheat Thins--unopened. 

He huffed, sighing as he unbuckled his seatbelt with a "zip!" and pushed open the car door, ducking under to place his shoes on the chilled dawn cement, damp from a night of rain. 

His footsteps were amplified in the morning silence, only a few cars going by on the road behind the parking lot as he trekked across, not bothering to put his hood up over his head. It wasn’t raining, only misting a bit as he stepped past the sparse, scattered cars in the lot. He could handle a little dusting of wet in his hair.

The gate was open, as he was within the visiting hours, and he glanced up at the neat, sophisticated letters. Mount Olivet Cemetery. The sights were meaningless after all the times he'd become weathered to them, and he simply lowered his head and walked through as if down a normal street. Just a civilian on a walk. A normal man. His feet crunched on the tan-colored gravel, still soaked through as he entered the cemetery that he knew by heart. His thoughts drifted where they will as he let his body go through the motions, guiding him with muscle-memory to the place. 

“Mr. Jefferson.” a friendly voice jarred him from his thoughts and he blinked, stopping with a bit of a scuffle of rubber soles on gravel. There was a raspy laugh.

“Woah, there, son. Didn’t mean to spook you.” When Thomas saw who it was, his protective stance softened, and he managed a slight smile.    
“Bren, how are you?” he inquired politely, and the older man smiled, wrinkles on the dark skin around his eyes. He was a short man wearing the tannish uniform, his aging hands in tan gloves and his short, curly black hair under a brimmed hat despite the cloudiness. He was one of the groundskeepers. He knew Thomas by name after all this time. 

The man found a soft smile and dipped his head, easygoing and slow-moving, “Well as I can be. And how’re you?”   
Thomas shrugged, beginning to move forward once again, but slowly to maintain eye contact with the man’s black eyes. Thomas cleared his throat with a rumble; it was a difficult question to answer in a cemetery. 

“About the same.” 

“Well,” Bren dipped his head, tipping his hat in an old fashioned but kindhearted manner, “I’ll give you two some space this morning.”   
“Thank you.”   
“No need to thank me, son.” he smiled again, shuffling along down the path in his elderly movements, taking his time. Thomas couldn’t decide if it was comforting or sorry to be recognized here, but it was what it was. No use feeling sorry for himself over it. Eventually, the footsteps of Bren faded into the misty morning silence as they both ambled in opposite directions.

Thomas crunched along down the winding paths alone, but he was never _truly_ alone. There were some families and friends scattered and whispering quietly, and he'd nod to them with pursed lips. If they were silent, he was silent too; he'd picked up on those unspoken rules since his first time here.

The cemetery itself was exceptionally well-kept. It was respectable. Some of the older areas had trees growing in them, thick and ancient, but he was looking for a more open, grassy glen, primarily for newer burials. With the humidity plus the chilliness, there was a sort of mist along the ground that struck him more as peaceful than as eerie or frightening. It weaved between headstones and made them appear like people crouching or just stones or stumps in the woods. During his visits he had slowly learned that this place was one of rest, not of unrest. 

Cemeteries weren't what people thought of them, the grungy, over-exaggerated death fields that movies portrayed them as. It was just a place. It was just another coffee shop to meet friends, but some of the friends... weren't able to contribute much to the conversation. 

Water droplets accumulated on his shoulders and back of the waterproof rain coat, the chair and box of Wheat Thins swinging at his side. 

Before he knew it, he was there. He never really made a big deal of it. 

A couple other families were scattered around but he’d grown out of any embarrassment. They were all here for the same reasons; everyone did what they were comfortable with. Whether it be flowers or standing in silence, there was no need for shame. Thomas sighed deeply, shaking the chair a bit to unfold it as he stepped off the path. Five graves down, starting at the cubic cross statue. He paced until he reached the place.

No matter how much he did it, the painful tug at his heart always followed for at least a moment--the one part of these journeys he could never get rid of. Thomas glanced down at the nice headstone, plain but obviously tasteful and deliberately chosen. As usual, he planted the four legs of his green camping chair to the left side in the damp, dew-sprinkled grass, making sure it was firm before stepping in front of it and settling down on a long exhale. 

“Hey, buddy.” he spoke, putting on a casual tone as if he were genuinely talking to him. Thomas leaned back in the seat, shuffling down into it with a series of creaks, “I brought your favorite.” he rumbled as he settled down. 

He peeled his thumb nail underneath the lip of the box, tearing it open.

“Gluten free Wheat Thins. Well, second favorite. I forgot to go to the store cause Alex did snacks out of the blue, and course I didn’t realize we needed gluten free pretzels, cause, you know.” he sniffed, shrugging as he put the box between his knees and reached in, pulling one out and popping it into his mouth, “I hate them, and you don’t really eat them anymore.” he mumbled, crunching around the cracker. 

After a few moments of just observing his surroundings he swallowed, making a dirty face.    
“So disgusting. Every time.” he swallowed again, shaking his head and looking off into the distance, “Some things get better the more you eat them, like almonds or some shit. But these are just sand-infused sawdust, buddy. I don’t get how you like them.” he frowned and shook his head, returning his gaze to the headstone. 

He sighed. Obviously, there was no response but for the silence of the cold, spring morning, hardly a peeking of buds on the trees. The grass had grown nicely over the turned soil in the past year, he noticed; that was good. Very nicely indeed. The sky was a wool-colored gray. Just the silence. 

Thomas licked his lips, taking out another cracker. 

“I found this song you’d like. I heard it and thought about you. You know, since you like either hard rap or sob songs that make you want to throw yourself off a bridge.” he laughed, chuckling quietly. He sniffed, crossing his ankle up over his knee. 

“I think it’s ‘Twenty-Two’ by Melissa Wasserman. I’ll play it for you next time; I might've…” he patted his pockets, “left my phone in the car. That’s a you-move, buddy. No offense.” he snickered, but realized that someone was walking down the trail. He pursed his lips, going silent until they passed out of earshot. Thomas felt his heart sink a bit as he looked down to his gravelly shoes. It kept sinking.

“I think you’d like it…” he trailed off. It was hard to hold up a conversation with someone who couldn’t respond to you. But he was _trying_. He always tried. 

For what felt like a long time but passed in an instant, Thomas just sat there in the silence. It felt calming to be this close to him again, but just not… right. It wasn't right, and James was the one who had gotten him to the point of being able to stop being angry when he was here, connecting the place to positive emotions. His temper was gone, but it wasn't... right. One day he’d get used to it. One day… 

He cleared his throat, quietly setting the box down in the grass. He shuffled himself in the camping chair and placed his hands up on the arms. 

“So, Alexander and I are going on a mission today. He talked Washington into giving us another ‘trial mission’ for ‘public approval reasons’.” Thomas shook his head, peering off across the cemetery. An old lady in gloves held her hat on her grey-haired head as the wind picked up for a gust.

“Sometimes I don’t know how he does it." Thomas grumbled, "Obviously neither of us have any doubts that it’ll be anything less than an easy success, but I think about Alexander and I’s first trial mission. Two years ago. Before you came around.” Thomas’s fingers twitched, tapping the waterproof arms of the chair as he looked down at his feet.    
“Never understood what I was working with till that day.  _ Who  _ I was working with. You know the story.” Thomas huffed, swallowing quietly. 

“Doesn’t matter anymore. Maybe it’ll be exhilarating. I can’t wait to get back out there with a partner that knows my plans without needing an instruction manual and a blueprint of my brain.” he shuffled his foot on the wet grass, squelching a bit, “I’ll miss having you shooting from the other side, though.” he shrugged. For a few more moments he was silent. They both were. Thomas turned his face back to the stone. 

“Did you know Allie was dyslexic?” the thought came out of nowhere and was out of his lips before he had time to process. Then again, this was the place he didn’t have to hand-pick his words. He inhaled.    
“You’ll never believe it, buddy. I don’t know what the fuck to think. He’s such an insufferable jerk  _ all  _ the time. I hate him more than I hate myself. Last night he just… buckled. He cried right there in front of me, and--” Thomas stopped. His breath caught in his throat. He swallowed an obstruction. 

“And honestly… I don’t know what happened to me when that shit went down; it's not me that matters anyway. But I ended up…” he looked away for a moment, biting his lip before looking back with an unnamed emotion tugging at his gut,

“I ended up making him some notecards. You know, to help him regain his education. He said I stole it from him when I had him arrested. Now that I’m here, of course, I realize that’s bullshit.” Thomas felt passion begin to swell, and he took a deep breath in… and let it out. James had told him to let this place be the one place where the bitterness and rancor should be at rest. Let it rest. 

As he always did, he counted to ten, and counted back down to zero. 

“It was his decision to put you here. It’s not my fault if he didn’t think through the consequences.” he nodded, agreeing with himself. He knew that the other would agree. Thomas slowly understood that the emotion he was experiencing, rising up from the depths was guilt. He was guilty. Guilty of coming here before this headstone with words of how he had helped the murderer that had sent him there. Shame that he was having sexual relations with him. 

“Purely carnal…” he whispered to himself, reassuring himself that that was what it was. Purely carnal. Nothing more. It was worth nothing more between himself and Alexander.

The misty breeze bit his face, making him blink. He was fairly warm beneath the drizzle-dusted rain jacket, and he watched the clouds passing quickly overhead, barely glowing with the rising sun. The world was waking up; the world was starting a new day. There was only so long he could stay here, stuck, trapped in that misty place between the present and the past. It mounted in his chest as it never had before, tightening. 

Suddenly he had the need to just get… a little bit closer. 

Thomas huffed a sigh and leaned forward, stiff, and grunted as he raised from his seat. But not for long as he took a couple steps forward, soles sinking a bit in the soft, spongy grass. With muscles a bit sore from training with Lafayette, he squatted down, lowering himself down beside the clean-cut headstone. 

There was a squeak of rubber sole on slick grass as he sat down on the earth, not giving two fucks about the dampness. He slid his legs out, parallel with where the casket was beneath the soil. Thomas sighed a long… long sigh… and leaned his side up against the cold hardness of the headstone. Ice cold, damp with morning mist. His head bumped against the edge, and he leaned it there, resting. There was no discomfort. He was home for the moment. 

Suddenly, the emotion he always fought violently and cruelly to shove down and scare away while he was here or anywhere else surged up. He never let it through. Never. It disgusted him. The weakness repulsed him But today… he was helpless to it. And it was Alexander's fault.   
Thomas squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his forehead to the side of the headstone. For a moment of pure loss of control, the world was entirely silent.

“I miss you, buddy.” he whispered. His heart lurched when his voice hitched. He swallowed the lump in his throat, desperate not to let anything show. His brows turned up in quiet suffering as he sat there in the silence. A dove cooed, but that was the only sound. A lonely sound. 

That empty part of Thomas, that emptiness that was always aching quietly in the silence sobbed now, desperately lonely. Desperate for something to fill in the missing pieces. But there was nothing. It was just him. Just him and the cemetery silence. 

He fluttered his eyes closed once again, squeezing them shut and baring his teeth in a pained, tortured grimace as he mouthed the next words, no sound coming out as his lips formed them. “I miss you…” 

H is chest fluttered for a scary moment, but he got it in control. He pushed it back down. He thought of something else. He locked it away. 

But his eyes remained closed, the last thing he saw burned like a photograph in front of his mind. The grainy letters etched in the stone with a perfect professional font:

“Randolph H. Emerson” 

* * *

The door swung shut, and Thomas stepped inside the apartment, stripping off his raincoat with a jangle of zippers. Immediately, he was engulfed by the warm smell of bacon as he shook the water droplets off the black material onto the mat. The apartment itself was warmer than usual, perhaps due to the comparison to the chilly morning outside or to the cooking that had gone on within. 

Thomas hung his coat on the line of pegs near the door, not in the mood to walk it back to his closet before it was dry, and kicked off his shoes. 

Music was playing quietly from the Amazon Alexa, and he heard a noise from the living room. Someone breathed in over exaggeratedly, and a head of light brown hair raised from where he was sitting on the carpet. Thomas blinked. 

Alexander sighed dramatically, eyes closed blissfuly, not looking at him. 

“Ahhh… smells like homosexual in here.” Alexander opened his eyes and turned his face to Thomas with a bright, cheery smile, “Oh. There it is.” 

Thomas shook his head, shaking the cold off him as he padded into the apartment with socked feet. 

“Where’ve you been?" Alex queried with his usual voice, "Local Brony convention?”

“Did you make food…?” he inquired, scanning the counter and ignoring Alexander’s endless flow of comments. A used pan full of bacon grease was out on the burner with a greasy spatula set on the counter. A cereal bowl, Lucky Charms, and the milk was uncapped over at the island as well. He started to walk towards the kitchen to browse.   
“Ah yes. Breakfast.” Alex grunted, leaning back down and staying down, “I left everything out for you.”

“Really?” Thomas grumbled, holding up the Lucky Charms and shaking the cardboard box so that it rattled, “Because I eat Lucky Charms breakfast, lunch and dinner. How'd you know?” he monotoned sarcastically. 

“Twinsies.”   
Thomas tossed his wallet onto the counter and reached for the used, empty bowl instead, mildly irritated. 

“Oh, and a used bowl  _ and  _ spoon. Thank you so much. I appreciate your thoughtfulness.” he pursed his lips and bobbed his head, casting a glance over across the island to the living room where Alexander sat on the floor, legs outstretched in front of him as he leaned forward, hugging them like a gymnast. 

“Anytime, Thomas.”   
“It just means so much. You know. That I get this beautiful mess to clean up in exchange for virtually nothing. I don’t know what to say...”   
“You can cry. It’s okay.” Alexander snickered, listening to the loud clinking of Thomas placing the bowl, spoon, and spatula in the dishwasher for him, grumbling all along. Alex looped a red exercise band around the balls of his feet and sat back up, pulling it tight, and leaned back down. 

“What’re you doing?” Thomas huffed, bending down to close the dishwasher and stand back up.    
Alex's voice was strained as he bend back down, “Stretching. Lafayette’s got me on a plan to get my flexibility back.”

Thomas snorted, “Oh. Don’t worry. You’re flexible.” he scoffed, swinging his head over to look at the boy in his T-shirt and gym shorts, a couple exercise bands around him and a water bottle up on the glass table. 

“Are you…” Alex squinted, looking up to the ceiling in contemplation, “referencing the legs-over-your-shoulders or the hyperextension of my back?” 

“Warmups during training, but sure.” Thomas grinned, shaking his head as he opened the fridge and pulled out a protein shake he had left in there from the evening before. Alex sighed, dropping the band to the floor to reach up for his water bottle, tilting back a sip. 

“Yeah. Did I mention I’m horny?” he spoke, licking his lips and setting it back down with a clink. Thomas travelled over to the island and stood against it, shaking up the bottle firmly with a sloshing sound, the thick liquid within blending. 

“Did I mention that I don’t care?”   
“Well did I mention that I’m  _ really  _ horny?” Alex widened his eyes, nodding to emphasize his point. Thomas didn’t even look in his direction as he popped open the bottle and took a deep gulp. Alex went on anyway; he didn’t care. 

“In case you haven’t noticed, I haven’t had an orgasm in almost three days.” he went down into a full split with no issues whatsoever, leaning down to lay over his left leg. He got frustrated when Thomas didn’t seem to acknowledge the absurdity of that notion. 

“Are you listening to that number? ”    
“Alexander, look at my face.” he sighed, and Alex’s head popped up into view, a scowl over his brow. Thomas looked down on him and circled his own expression with a finger.    
“Is this a face that gives a fuck?”   
“Come  _ on _ .” he huffed, frustrated. Thomas rounded the counter in no hurry, sliding his phone out of his sweatpants pocket as he spoke offhandedly. 

“My whole body is, like, throbbing.” he whined.   
“You can handle yourself for a day. Can you do that?” he mocked, taunting him a bit. Alex just grumbled, obviously pouting as he sat up and leaned over the other leg, still in a split. 

Thomas settled down in a chair at the island, sideways so he could see Alexander. He had to say… something about those shorts plus the split plus that cute little ass. Alex’s hair fell over his face.    
“I need cock.” he whimpered and moped, complaining in a bratty tone of voice. Thomas snorted, scrolling through his phone as he leaned back and sipped at his protein shake. Watching Alexander horny with no outcome was probably one of the greatest forms of entertainment in his daily life. 

“What happened to that ‘lineup of big boys just like me waiting to hit it’?” 

“Fine. Edit: I want  _ your  _ cock. In me.” he redid the exact same pouty tone, bringing his legs together from his split and laying down on his back on the rug. 

“How romantic.” Thomas grunted. He spoke into the lip of his bottle as he took another swig of his shake, mainly ignoring the teenager who had snapped from collected right back to horny in a span of two days. He was insatiable. Fucking insatiable. 

“Question for you, Blue Balls, How many orgasms do you have a week?”   
“At least ten.” Alexander answered seamlessly as if he knew it was about to be asked and had the answer ready on the tip of his tongue. Thomas blinked incredulously, disgusted but curious at the responsiveness, nearly spewing out his mouthful of shake all over the counter. He managed to swallow, eyes watering.

“I’m sorry, what?” he scoffed all in the same breath, letting his phone clatter down to the table. Alex didn’t even look at him as he twisted his back, crossing his right leg over his body with his knee down on the carpet. 

“One a day but two every other day.” he explained, then shrugged happily like a child, “I like sex.” Alex explained in this innocent, peppy little tone as he grinned up at Thomas. Thomas curled his lip, repulsed as he snarled.    
“Yeah, no shit. Jesus fucking Christ, Alexander.” he scoffed, “you’re a horny train-wreck.”

“No, Jefferson. I’m horny. Not a train-wreck.” he sat back up smoothing his hair down over his head and behind his ears like a proud lion’s golden mane. Thomas felt the mood shift on a dime now that Alexander had raised, now that they could meet eye-to-eye despite some distance. The boy opened his--hazel and glinting in the light of the sunrise. 

“Quite to the contrary,  _ you  _ are the real mess here.” he spoke, nose snootily up in the air as he crossed his arm over his chest, holding it with his other and stretching, “I, on the other hand, have a far more powerful weapon than an impulsive temper, driver-boy. Premeditation. Poise. Equanimity. Self-restraint. Should I go on?” he inquired, voice cool and collected as promised. Thomas rolled his eyes. 

“If you’d like your ass to look like a crime scene, please.” Thomas waved a hand, inviting him to do so, “be my guest.” Alexander cocked his chin slightly, raising a brow. 

“Careful with what you offer me, Jefferson. I take that as an invitation.” They stared each other down across the living room, Alex immediately radiating power once more, an adult sort of power. He turned it on and off like a light switch, catching everyone around him off guard. You always had to be on your toes unless you wanted to be in your grave.    
“Or if you’re really not careful, I take that as a challenge.” 

“Well. Consider it neither. Because I don’t care to satisfy you.” Thomas pursed his lips, cocking his head. Alex gracefully stood from the ground as if gravity had no impact on his movements. Impeccably, he mirrored Thomas’s head stance, mirrored his expression. 

“Ah, Thomas.” he clicked his tongue, shaking his head in disappointment, “Passing up a lot of chances to get that thick dick in my ass and beat me half dead.”   
“Three quarters.” Thomas grunted, knowing full well that there was certainly a tug urging him to throw Alexander over the coffee table and fuck him from behind, yank his head back and hold him there uncomfortably with a rough hand in his long locks.

“And you can cry all you want; it just gives me less reason to be Mr. Nice Guy, so,” Thomas shrugged, sipping from the shake as Alex scowled at him, “your choice.” 

“This is one of the many reasons I don’t like you.” Alex spoke coolly, eloquently. Thomas set his bottle down on the table, capping it with a click. But before he could respond, he was interrupted by a loud buzzing of his phone glass against granite. His brows flicked down as he turned it face up to see who the call was coming from.    
“Save it for later, kid. I’ve got a call from--”

“Angelica and Lafayette.” Alexander filled in, and Thomas’s eyes darted over to him. The boy was lowering elegantly down to the couch, holding up his own phone that was buzzing, showing Thomas the screen. He smirked, twitching a brow across at Thomas as he clicked the green icon and raised it slowly to his ear, using it to brush back his hair. He was just rubbing it in that they were equal in importance, and it irked the older man. 

Thomas clenched his jaw, flicking his unceremoniously to his own ear. They only waited a moment, still making eye contact as a French accent sounded over the phone. 

“Bonjour, Thomas. Xander.” he purred. Alex leaned back in his seat, getting comfortable.   
“Hey croissant. What’s up?” 

Thomas scalded him with a  _ venomous  _ glance that could kill instantly. Alexander only winked at him, beautiful, charming. Lafayette sighed, but Alex could tell there was a smile on his face. 

“Well. ‘What is up’ is that you two should make departure in approximately an hour, and Ms. Angelica Schuyler and I have some details we’d like to confirm on Washington’s order. He sends his apologies for not being able to attend the call; he has other matters to tend to.” 

“Shame. Would’ve been nice to hear his voice before our operation, but send my promise of success and best regards to him.”

As Alexander spoke the cunning words with a professional air, he stared right at Thomas, acting out the movement of slowly licking his hand and lowering it down between his legs, spreading his thighs slowly like a fucking whore whilst they talked about Washington. Thomas gripped his phone tighter, fingers twitching. His lips were screwed up, eyes  _ emanating  _ intense darkness as he just slowly… shook his head.

He didn’t know why Alex was doing this, but perhaps that was the purpose. Fuck him up with little mind games surrounding his old, twice-his-age crush. Alex was clothed. He couldn’t touch anything. He was just being a fucking brat. 

“I’m sure he’ll appreciate that. Agent Jefferson, you hear us alright?” Angelica piped in with her terser voice and changed the subject, far more professional than Alexander and colder than Lafayette. There was no room for funny business around Angelica, but Alex wasn’t in front of her. He could do as he pleased. 

Thomas’s words were strained through gritted teeth, “I can hear you fine. Thank you.”   
“Excellent.” she clipped, “I’ll get straight to the point and not waste anybody’s time.”

“Of course.” Alexander responded, voice as collected as ever as he brushed his fingers over his hips, toying at the hem of his shirt before… Thomas tensed up.

The boy lifted it above his navel, to expose his pretty, flat belly. Only now did Thomas realize the sheer lack of markings on it--his favorite feature--no hickeys or whiplashes at all. The kid looked down at it as he traced the tip of his fingers over his warm, smooth skin. He gave a sly look up to Thomas through his dark lashes, amused. 

Thomas tilted the phone back from his mouth against his ear and mouthed the words “Stop. It.” with angrily furrowed brows and a curled lip, but Alexander shrugged him off. 

“First, Agent Jefferson, Agent Hamilton does not have a new model 2067 mod-A earpiece to sync with yours, so come to Tech before you leave to set him up with one.”   
“Indeed.” Thomas clipped, lips pursed tightly as Alex moved to his waistband, trailing his thumb under it, gliding across his lower belly. The kid gave him a  _ naughty  _ face, almost disgustingly promiscuous as he bit his lip and blinked slowly. Thomas swallowed, desperate to look away, but Alex had him. 

“Also, our sources tell us the truck will be loaded at nine o’ clock precisely, so wait in position outside of the North wing of the warehouse district for half an hour beforehand to scout.” Lafayette chimed in, “Agent Hamilton,” he continued, addressing the sniper now.

“Baguette.” Alexander dipped his head and blinked as if that was his name. 

“Do not bring your sniper rifle. Your assault rifle is what you will need to gun down their tires if it is necessary--if they try to make a getaway.”    
“Right. Tires.” Alexander let his waistband snap down, pressing his tongue to the inside of his cheek to create a sexy lump.

But Thomas hardly had a moment to focus on Alex’s cheek. He was still busy what with Alexander had just implied. Obviously, Angelica had picked up on it.

“Of course, our  _ main  _ goal is to avoid unnecessary loss of life and to prosecute the suspect illicit drug distributors. So I expect diligence in that area. Agent. Hamilton.” Angelica clipped. 

“Certainly.” Alex purred, appeasing her smoothly with his witty charm, “Golden Rule, ladies and gentlemen.” he dipped his head. Thomas knew he was referencing what the bureau had dubbed “The Golden Rule”: you can’t shoot if the aggravator has no weapon. Thomas wanted to  _ rip  _ the sniper’s throat out. At what he was ironically referring to… 

“Precisely. _Comme d'habitude_ , wear uniform suits, sunglasses. You are not undercover. You go as FBI agents” Lafayette informed, "However, Xander, Washington orders you to wear a hat. Black only. Your identity is to remain as confidential as possible." 

“Suits and ties and a hat. Done and done.” Alexander echoed leaning back even further into the couch, lazy. He loved uniform. So much. Thomas cleared his throat. 

“Monsieur Lafayette.” he addressed, but his voice--Alexander could tell even without his skill--was tense, “In terms of surveillance---”

“In terms of surveillance, we have a drone follow you the entire time. This was the purpose of this ‘trial mission’, to let the bureau see the proof of paired cooperation.” He sounded like he was struggling to figure out how to put his next words, but Alexander chimed in, crossing his ankle over his knee leisurely. 

“Good. Tech Department takes the video, crops it, releases it to the bureau. A little movie trailer for our partnership.” Alexander raised his pretty hazel eyes to Thomas across the room on the last word. The fingertips that had been toying at his own belly trailed slowly down over his hip. Thomas spiked when they got close to his lap, but fortunately for Alexander, he continued. Slowly… slowly, he ran the palm of his hand down his thigh. 

The older agent’s eyes stormed. Lafayette rumbled a cough, but Angelica spoke.    
“Actually, gentlemen, Director Washington and the rest of the heads of Departments are readying to commence our meeting as we speak. The session that will determine whether or not to terminate your partnership and hand the mission over to another agent pair.”

“And?” Alex inquired impatiently, trailing his hand back up his leg, pulling up the leg of his pants to slowly show Thomas his faintly pink whiplashes, revealing to him his skin as he reeled up the fabric. 

“And,” Angelica answered, a note of terseness in her no-bullshit voice, “John Adams has requested that for full justice, your mission be aired  _ live  _ to the bureau as a whole. If they choose to view it in the HUB, they are permitted. All of them...”

Thomas’s heart  _ whammed  _ for a  _ terrifyingly  _ hard beat. His stomach wrenched in his gut, plummeting to his fucking toes. He flicked his view to Alexander in utter disbelief. The whole bureau… but what he saw on Alexander’s face, he should have predicted. 

Always one for a show, he was. Always one for a show. 

Alex’s hand had frozen. Slowly… his gorgeously red lips gradually curved into a slow smirk, curling up at the corners like a devil. His face cracked into a pure… unhealthy,  _ sick  _ sort of pleasure.   
“But of course.” Alexander purred in his high-toned voice, leaning back into the couch, “It’s only fair game.” 

“Well. Debatable. As of this moment, Adams wields nearly more power than Washington--in theory. Only your success would reinstate Washington’s ultimate authority over your future, so. Please. Be careful and note that the bureau is spectating your every move. The vote will take place after the close of the mission.” Lafayette reasoned, and Alex nodded.    
“I’ve always liked a good show. I find them diverting.” he spoke, voice charming and snakelike. From the corner of his eye, he threw Thomas a glance; the man still seemed in shock from the abrupt news, but not enough to miss the glint in Alex’s eyes, “So we’ll give them one. Won’t we, Agent Jefferson?” 

There was a moment’s pause. Two. Three. 

The heaviness in the air thickened, intensified with each passing second. 

Alex twitched a brow. Finally, Thomas spoke.    
“We will. And we will succeed.” 

Alex’s face softened into a pleased grin, wielding the power tyrannically. Across the room, he dipped his head at Thomas as  _ if  _ he had the position in this relationship to be approving. To give praise. Thomas’s dominant instincts began to pump with the testosterone in his blood, churning slowly; he could fucking hear it throbbing in his ears. His fingers twitched; his powerlust spiked. 

“As I expect of you, Agent Jefferson.” The French accent rumbled. That’s what did it. 

Something about staring at Alexander like a naughty piece of prey and hearing his recent rival’s voice over the phone at the same time caused something deep in Thomas’s psychology to click into place. 

Alexander’s eyes widened when the dominant agent stood from his seat. 

“Of course. We will be ready, in uniform, with new earpieces and surveillance at 8:30 A.M. in my matte black Lamborghini Veneno. Any more questions for myself or Agent Hamilton?” Thomas spoke extremely dryly, firm as hell as he started to stride towards Alex, a dark look in his eyes. 

The sniper’s heart leaped into his throat, breath hitching and accelerating, submissive mindset taking over in an instant. He kept his phone to his ear, but uncrossed his legs, placing both feet on the ground if he needed to stand and fight.    
“Not for now. Focus on your mission. Good luck.” Thank God for Angelica’s conciseness. 

“Splendid. Enjoy the meeting.”   
“Thank you for your time.” Lafayette spoke, and Thomas’s temper was taken to the next level. Alex parted his lips, lowering the phone from his ear and hanging up, his whole body tensing, muscles bunching up. Angelica hung up so that it was simply Thomas and Lafayette on the call for the last five seconds. With the adrenaline pumping through his veins, Thomas’s tongue moved on impulse now, envigored and fired up, only seeing  _ red _ . 

“And Gilbert. I’ll take care of Alexander. So you can stop sniffing around my things or we can chat man to man whenever the fuck you want; need that in French?” 

“...E _ xcuse  _ m--” Thomas punched the hangup button aggressively with his thumb, chucking his phone to the side to land on a chair. It bounced and fell to the carpeted ground, but he couldn’t have cared less--he hardly even heard it. His focus was  _ all  _ on the bastard in front of him. 

Alex turned to face him on the couch, face open in shock. He slowly shook his head.   
“You actually said it, Jefferson.” he scoffed, breaking into a parted-lip smile of incredulity, “And I didn’t think you had the balls.”

“ _ How dare you _ .” Thomas roared, veins popping in his neck as he lunged at Alex. All Thomas saw before he collided into him with a ringing smack was wide eyes, pupils dilating seventy-five percent with panic. Thomas shoved him back down onto the couch, clapping his powerful hand over the kid’s throat and  _ clamping  _ down with an iron fist. His other hand tangled in Alex’s long hair, wrenching his head backwards over the back of the couch, exposing his throat. 

Thomas curtly decided that he wouldn’t need Alexander speaking in this conversation. That was up to him. The blackness in his eyes darkened as he drew closer, pressing their hips together, pinning him to the couch.    
His lip twitched in rage as he slowly constricted his fingers around Alex’s throat, restricting his airflow to the absolute minimum without fucking killing him. Alexander’s hands slapped down on Thomas’s wrist, nails digging in but not clawing. Even when held at Thomas’s mercy, he was still perked up for mind games. The kid opened his mouth wide and coughed, making a gargling sound. 

Thomas brushed it off with utter lack of sympathy, letting his nails prick the warm skin. 

“You are on  _ thin ice with me, Hamilton _ .” he boomed, deep voice vibrating against Alex’s body. Alex jerked, bobbing up and down a bit, but no matter how he squirmed, it was pointless. Thomas pushed his head down further, feeling the warm pulse of his neck in his hand, hot and alive. God… he could take it away. He thought of Randolph’s grave. And he thought of Alexander’s body curled against his own, migraine ebbing into nothing. He blinked at the sheer conflict raging within himself.

“You think this is a game? A show? Is that what you fucking think, you  _ repulsive psychopath _ ? This is our  _ career _ .”    
Alex’s lips foamed at the corners as he bared his teeth, gurgling out a choked growl. Thomas just screwed up his lips and twisted the hair in his hand sharply, causing Alex to snarl, kicking his legs beneath him. 

“This isn’t your fanclub, Hamilton. This is the  _ Federal Bureau of Investigation  _ watching us. What the hell are you planning to do? Huh? No-knock a bunch of druggies for your own damn entertainment?  _ Huh? _ ” 

When Alexander didn’t respond, Thomas screwed up his lips, blood roaring in his ears as he shook Alexander violently, “Look at me when I’m talking to you, and  _ speak the fuck up _ unless you want your face to look like a freak accident.” he basically screamed.

Thomas lessened his grip for a split second, allowing Alex to cough out some strained words.    
“Not… make a fool… out of myself…asshole.” he sputtered, eyes fiery with fury. He gouged his nails into Thomas’s tan skin, leaving red trails, “Show them… what their Eight Shot can do…” 

Thomas paused. 

He released his throat, but kept his grip firmly in his hair, his hand sliding down to press against his chest. It fluttered unevenly as he choked and gasped for breath, tendons on his neck showing with relief as air flooded his lungs. As the boy recovered, Thomas knew what he had meant.    
Alexander was going to show everyone what the true Alexander Eight Shot Hamilton was capable of. Of course. How could he have overlooked this?

He meant that he was planning to kill.

Alex’s eyes traveled back and forth between Thomas’s ebony ones, his potent scent engulfing his senses. The boy shook his head, squinting.

“You think… after all that time in a vault I just pulled a sense of pity out my ass? Think I don’t have a bloodlust to quench thanks to you?” he finished on a whisper, lips twitching into a smirk. His throat fluttered, still breathing hard from the exhilarating excitement. He pressed up just an  _ inch  _ into Thomas’s hips. Letting him feel…

“You… are… a lunatic.” Thomas shook his head, his expression in a hazy place between rage and… fear.    
Alexander clucked his tongue condescendingly, extending a hand towards Thomas' face. An epic feat of stoicness, Thomas didn’t move--kept a straight face. The boy ran a hand through his hair, so… impossibly gently, and he smiled. He smiled an overly fond little grin up at Thomas above him. 

“Aw. No. Not a lunatic.” he ran his hand down the nape of Thomas’s neck, warm, fitting into the delicious curve, “Let me give you a little lecture. You ever seen a lunatic in a tailor made suit sitting at a table of grown government tycoons and running the show? Ever seen a lunatic treat every mission like a game of chess instead of a free-for-all?” He stopped at the base, gazing up into Thomas’s eyes, and the dominant man glared right back, chest rising and falling against Alex’s. 

“No. I’m a special kind of madman, driver-boy.” he stroked the pad of his thumb over the bone at the base of his neck, “A lunatic is someone too stupid to realize that nobody gives a fuck if you’re psychotic if you don’t have any power. But…” he tilted his head, grin twitching wider as he held up a finger to emphasize his point, “I am different.”

“You’re not different. You just told me you want to murder them?” 

“Oh, I am. I’m  _ smart _ , Jefferson--know that. But the trick is the power. The real game-changer.”

“This isn’t a game. You’re blinded by your own fucking ego. Always have been.” he spoke through clenched teeth, shaking his head in relish.

“Really? After two years of knowing me you don’t think I’m smart enough to understand how the world works? Come on.” he snorted, patronizing, “I’m smart enough to know exactly when I have enough power to turn the tables in my favor. I’m smart enough to understand that people will beat up the school weirdo  _ over and over again  _ until the moment he is in charge. And when he is.” Alex snapped his fingers with a crisp crack, biting his lip on top of all of it. 

Thomas felt his heart gradually… begin to pump faster. School weirdo? Beat up? Something in his stomach sank. Was he talking about himself? 

“They fall on their knees to follow your every order. You can’t go mad without power, Jefferson. And I’m smart enough to realize that this pathetic excuse for humankind only has enough room for two kinds of people in it.” he squinted at Thomas like he was a child, “You think there is sanity and insanity…You want to put me in that category...” 

He shook his head, but Thomas… he was still dwelling on Alexander’s words. Beat up… every day. They echoed in his head. 

“There is only the powerful and the powerless. The game masters and everyone else too stupid to play their cards. You know what I find  _ funny _ , driver-boy?” he dipped his head as he talked, all eyes on Thomas. He was getting… passionate, “ When the psychopath’s at the top, strangely, nobody seems to care that he’s a psychopath anymore.”

Alex spoke with a questioning tone, proving his point. The boy squinted, whispering his next words,

“Odd. Isn’t it? How the world works.” he breathed, face close to Thomas’s now. He could feel the heat of the other man, their eyes locked. But Thomas wasn’t wearing his usual expression for when they pulled these little dances. Something about this one was… different.

Perhaps after last night something between them had… shifted. Perhaps it was where Thomas had just been. Whatever the reason… Thomas blinked. 

“You’re wrong.” 

Alex would cock his head. 

He would smirk with a smug glint in his eye and press up against Thomas’s hips. But his tone of voice, his face threw him hurling off the tracks. Alexander blinked too.    
“What--”   
“You. Are. Wrong. Alexander.” Thomas spoke, still basically on top of Alex, still with a hand in his hair, but their conversation had swerved straight from Alexander’s crazy-talk right to something odd they had never done before. Thomas was taking the leap. Taking the risk. 

Alexander’s brows furrowed down, but before he could part his lips to speak, Thomas went on, kneading his hair a bit and shifting with a rustle on the couch.    
“You’re talking, and all I hear is bullshit. So snap the fuck out of it, or I’ll do it for you.” he snapped, and suddenly an emotion so powerful it was  _ potent, gripping  _ controlled him, pulled all the strings. 

He shook his head, “If they hit you at school, buddy, it wasn’t your responsibility to stand up. It was theirs to sit the fuck down. If they hit you it says a  _ shitload  _ more about them than it ever does about you.” Thomas shook his head firmly, jaw clenched in swelling up indignation, “You don’t have to prove anything to a bunch of drug junkies from Harlem.  _ Especially  _ not by  _ murdering people _ .” 

For a terrifying moment, the silence was deafening. It was  _ ringing _ . 

Finally, after all this time, something flickered across Alexander’s emotionless eyes. After all these days, it happened. The kid shook his head only a centimeter, lips parted. 

“Who the hell do you think you are, Jefferson?” he whispered. There was only each other’s eyes… the wisp of the quiet words Alex had softly spoken. Thomas opened his mouth, but Alex cut him off.    
“You don’t hear yourself?  _ Do  _ you hear yourself?” Alex scoffed, belly rising and falling quickly with a high laugh, “I can’t believe this. I can’t believe you.” Alexander broke eye contact unceremoniously and shoved at Thomas’s chest, pushing him off so that he stumbled back from the couch, almost knocking into the coffee table. Alexander ignored the grunt and strode briskly away a few steps, brushing himself off like he wanted to erase the conversation off him. 

“What the fuck is your problem?” Thomas snarled loudly, raising his voice, but Alex was more than ready to respond, standing in the main area of the apartment. 

“You know, I thought it wouldn’t take an expert to figure out stupid shit, but let me spell it out for you.” Alexander snarled right back, nose wrinkled with a growl. He lifted both hands to mockingly exemplify his point, “You are talking to me like I’m Randolph.” 

He let them clap back down to his sides. He pursed his lips, “You hear it. Don’t you.”

He thought Thomas would freeze up and get angry, but the man only opened his arms, leaning forward a bit.    
“How fucking terrible, Alexander.” he scoffed, voice brimming with caustic sarcasm, “Maybe if you got your enormous head out of your own ass, you’d see that me talking to you like someone I  _ actually  _ cared about isn’t such a tragedy, jackoff, so stop playing the martyr.” he scoffed morbidly.

“God, Thomas, don’t do that. We both know you don’t care about me, so don’t you  _ dare  _ pull that card out of your ass just so _you_ can play martyr.” he raised his voice a notch, and a  _ look  _ from Thomas told him to back the fuck down or suffer the consequences. 

“I don’t.” Thomas bobbed his head, mirroring Alex’s pursed lips and telling the  _ brutally  _ honest truth, “I don’t care about you. I’ll never care about you like I did Randolph. And hey, how bout in some imaginary world where he was the traitor you paint him to be, I’d still care about him ten fold more than you. If you die today, I wouldn’t even waste my time going to your funeral. I’d never think of you again. Alright? That what you want to hear?” 

Alex opened and closed his mouth once. He looked over to the windows and back to Thomas. “Yes.” he finally got out. And oh... did it hurt. 

“Good. You heard it.” Thomas let his arms fall back down to his sides. 

His voice echoed in the morning apartment, “You go and treat our careers like a show today. Do whatever the hell you want, I won’t stop you.” he shrugged in innocence, indifferent, “pump some randos full of bullet holes. I’m happy.” he frowned considerably, shrugging again, “Do that and you prove me right. You’re a fucking lunatic that has no hope for being cared for by anyone ever in your pathetic existence, not that your emotionally constipated ass wants it. And you’re happy too because a random forty-two year old man’s brains are splattered on your shoes. We’re both happy.”

“Damn right, Thomas.” Alex spat.    
“Great.” 

And then there was quiet. Finally. It was obvious as a bull in a china closet that neither was happy. But  _ God _ , the awkward silence was the  _ worst _ . 

For a full minute, they didn’t know what to do. Neither wanted to be the first to walk away, but standing there facing each other seemed worse. This wasn’t like their other fights, purely unemotional. This had personality involved, vulnerability that both of them  _ hated _ . 

Alex sniffed, looking down at some random point on the floor as he went through his fingers on one hand, trying to absently crack the knuckles but none did. Thomas shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and the discomfort was  _ physically  _ palpable. 

“Kay. Good talk.” Alex finally nodded, pursing his lips, “I’ll get my guns and suit and be in the garage. Bring your glock unless you want to borrow an assault rifle or some shit.” 

“Thanks but no thanks.” 

Another silence ensued after the stiff words. 

Alexander’s well-oiled gears turned in his mind, immediately processing and weighing everything they had said. Alexander’s bloodlust had mounted exponentially each day he was chained up. He could handle it, but it would be difficult to do so, especially when such a good opportunity was going down in an hour. He looked back up to Thomas, who wasn’t looking at him. Fuck... his words had hurt Alexander like nothing he'd ever felt from verbal criticism. Looking at Thomas made Alexander want to prove him wrong. Looking at that tall, emotionally constipated, dark-haired blockhead, the solution was finally formulated. 

It would be easier to deny himself for now. For both their sakes. It wasn't worth it to win. 

“This is bullshit.” Alex spoke out of the blue. Thomas waited for him to go on, completely agreeing, but silent, awkwardness clinging to him like smoke.    
The kid ran a hand through his mane and laughed, “You know what? You’re right. This isn’t a competition. If it was, I’d win. I’m going to make both of us look like fucking legends out there today. Especially you.”

Thomas blinked. This was… what?   
Alexander nodded, agreeing with himself, “Yeah. And I’ll follow the Golden Rule. A little treat for you too, driver-boy.”

Thomas was completely and utterly baffled, he numbly took a step forward.    
“Can I ask why the fuck you’re forfieting this argument?”

“You just did. But don’t flatter yourself.” Alex shrugged, brushing off his shirt, “I'm doing it for me." he lied, "You succeed, I succeeded. Simple positive feedback loop. You go down, I go down too.” he dipped his hands into his pockets and matched Thomas, drawing closer to him across the hardwood floor, taking two steps.

“So I’ll kill if I have to. Nothing more nothing less. We’re even. Deal?”    
“We’re not even. What’s in it for me?” Thomas rumbled darkly, “What’s my incentive to believe you?”    
Alexander smirked, looking down at the ground for a moment as he sauntered, hips swaying, biting his lip before turning his face back up and letting it slip out between his teeth, red and gorgeously wet. 

“You get the satisfaction of knowing you were right. That I shouldn’t be murking bastards left and right while I’m on live camera. That would be moronic.” Thomas squinted, shaking his head in dissatisfaction as Alex drew closer, but the kid kept talking. 

“And I’ll make you the centerpiece of the show. As I said.” The closer he got, the more the height difference was exemplified. Finally, an inch away, Alexander halted, bare feet on the cold floor, and tilted his face directly upwards to stare into Thomas’s. They could smell each other’s cologne now, strong and encapsulating. 

“I can sacrifice center stage for a day.”   
“Mm.” Thomas grunted, “I don’t think you can, you egotistical little shit.” he showed his teeth on the curse.   
“I am capable of more than you know, driver-boy. And…” he raised both of his hands to Thomas’s shoulders brushing them off gently like he was brushing off their previous argument. Shit… the man was tall. 

“If I don’t, you may do as you please to me. Tie me down, fuck my shit up, tear me to shreds; I’m yours to ruin.” he whispered, keeping his mouth open when he finished. Thomas exhaled, humming. 

“You’re a special kind of stupid if you think you can do this and get out of every argument.”   
Alex huffed a laugh through his nose, running his hands down Thomas’s chest, over his pecs.    
“Do what?”

“Act up with me and kiss my ass. It may work with your other guys, but not me.” 

“I’m acting up?” Alex trailed his palms down Thomas’s  belly, feeling his abs through his warm shirt, “I don’t feel like I’m acting up.”   
“You are. And if you think this is over, it’s not.”

“Think what’s over?” he purred absently, staring up into Thomas’s eyes as he inhaled, rubbing his hands back up Thomas’s pecs with a rustle of fabric on skin. His body was a fucking shrine to be worshipped, a Greek statue carved of rock-hard marble. 

“You are going to explain to me what you meant.”   
“Mm, your Jedi mind tricks don’t work on me.” Alexander snickered in a British accent, moving closer to press against him, and Thomas grabbed Alexander’s wrists, holding them in front of him, away from his body. It didn’t hurt, but it was a firm warning. 

Alex’s smug seduction dissolved in an instant as his head snapped up to Thomas’s gaze, calculating rapidly to figure out what was going on. What had Thomas just said? He hadn’t been paying much attention in the first place. Thomas stared down on him, straight-faced and serious. 

“I’m serious, Allie. You’re going to shut the hell up about your fucked up views on human nature and tell me what happened in school. I’m not kidding. I meant what I said about proving things to people.”   
“Shh. Thomas.” Alex hushed him, shaking his head slowly, “Okay. I get it.”   
“No you don’t--”

“Yes. I do.” Alex’s voice was firmer than Thomas had ever heard it. The kid’s wrists were still held captive, but he squinted, slowly shaking his head, “I don’t know why you give a fuck, but I can read that you don’t either. So if you want to know sob stories from my shitty childhood so bad, figure yourself out first. Then come to me when you’re finished.”   
“I have no clue what--” Thomas laughed, huffing out a breath, but Alex just smiled, using the rest of his body now that his hands were tied, pressing his pelvis up against Thomas’s.

“Would you shut up for three minutes?” he breathed, sliding his belly up to his dom’s so that they met when they rose and fell. Alex tugged at his wrists a bit, looking tiny in Thomas’s large hands, “And let me finish molesting you, goddammit.” he squirmed, and Thomas couldn’t help his own lifting mood, transitioning from serious to light. He’d won this one. Miraculously, he had won. And Alexander had let him.

“Unfortunately for you, bitch, it’s my decision when you get to touch me.” he chuckled, running his hands up Alex’s arms to clamp his shoulders, palms against his sharp little collarbones. In one smooth push, Thomas had the kid at arm’s length, holding him away from his body just for the fun of it. 

"Very funny, let go of me, asshole.” Alex huffed, out of breath as he tried to push against Thomas’s arms, walk over to him, but the taller man used his size and strength to easily stave him off. Alex puffed, long hair coming loose from behind his ears. 

“This is amusing. I should do this more often.” Thomas spoke nonchalantly, cooly shrugging. Alex growled, curling his lip away to reveal his teeth. Finally, he stopped struggling, just standing there and stewing in Thomas’s domination. 

“I hate you with every inch of my being.” he grumbled, shoving his hands down into his pockets again. Thomas just huffed a tiny laugh, smiling down on him condescendingly. 

“Well,” he towered over the short teengager, “That’s not a lot of inches. Is it?” he teased. 

Alexander sneered, leering, “Good one, Thomas. Comedy gold.”    
“Thought so. Get dressed.” he tossed his head up to Alex’s bedroom. Alexander tilted his face, poking his tongue on the inside of his cheek in the way he knew Thomas liked.    
“Come up and make me.”

The older only snorted “Nice try. Get your ass out of my sight.” he let him go, and Alex backed up, still facing him as his bare feet landed on the floor.    
“Or what?” he smirked.   
“Or I won’t beat it.”

“We’re at a level of reverse psychology so deep that even I don’t understand it.” he turned his back, snorting over his shoulder, “and that’s saying something.”   
“Don’t care. Didn’t ask.” Thomas turned his own way towards the living room for his phone on the floor. He paused for a moment. His lips curled into a smile.

As Alexander trotted up the stairs, he halted him with his next words, loud and clear.   
“And Allie.”   
Alex stopped, hand on the railing and feet on two different steps. He looked down on Thomas from his heightened position, blinking. Thomas gave him a sideways look.   
“What car do you want to take?”

Alex’s hazel eyes flickered with mischief just thinking about it. It really hit him for this first time that this was it. They were going. Finally. 

This was the moment when the famous Alexander Eight Shot Hamilton and Thomas Jefferson, the legends of all time, roared out into the city in a fucking hypercar. This is the moment they buttoned up suits with deliberate precision, straightened the cuffs. This was when they carefully loaded the guns, guns that would be panging, echoing off the skyscrapers, running down criminals down the crowded streets. The sound of a voice through an earpiece and the bullet shells hitting the floor was only minutes away. The smell of rubber burning on pavement during a chase… This was it. 

Alexander didn’t even have to try to mirror Thomas’s smirk. It was innate and genuine. 

This was his partner. His one true partner. No Randolph, no suspicions, just the duo of the century. A week ago in his cell, he never thought he’d live to see the day they were reunited, and now they were about to embark on a mission.    
Alex lifted his chin, tilting his head slightly. He couldn’t help but to poise himself as he knew to be natural, smug, cunning, professional. He parted his lips.

“I think you know what car we  _ both  _ want, Agent Jefferson.”    
Thomas’s lips twitched into a smile on his dark-browed face.

* * *

Thomas was in the elevator when he got a facetime call from Allie with that ridiculous profile picture, braces and all. He’d texted Alexander for a different picture to change it to while they were getting dressed, but Alex had just sent back a dick pic. 

With mild annoyance, Thomas pressed the floor button on the elevator and picked up the call, phone buzzing his hand. 

Immediately, he heard the connection tone, and he saw Alex from a sideways and below angle, bouncing as he walked, not even looking at the camera. He was wearing the sunglasses and black baseball cap he was supposed to be wearing, and at the top of his shoulders Thomas could see his black suit jacket and his tie. 

“Jefferson, you twat.”   
Thomas put him on pause to check another notification, scrolling through his phone.    
”I’ll give you one more chance to watch that bitchy attitude cause I’m in a good mood. What do you want?”

There was the clang of a door slamming shut and an echo, “Uh, I don’t know,  _ to get into  _ your garage.” he scoffed, “Seabury’s insufferable heterosexual ass won’t let me in without a card, which you have.”   
“What the actual fuck, Alexander? I  _ distinctly  _ remember giving you one.” Thomas growled, “did you lose it already?”

“No I didn’t--ay don’t put me on pause--” Before Alex could finish his whiny bout of complaints, Thomas hung up on him and stepped out of the elevator doors with a ding. The driver rolled his eyes with an exasperated sigh as he strode into the main garage where the company cars were kept, rows and rows of identically black SUVs. The place echoed with footsteps as Thomsa looked around nonchalantly, Alex stepping towards him from the left side where he had just come through a door.

Alex almost visibly had one of those cartoon squiggles of annoyance over his head, “I hate straight people.” he pursed his lips and opened his arms as he walked as if making a grand confession, “I always knew it deep inside, and I was like nah, you don’t really hate them.” he shook his head and shoved his phone into his back pocket, “Today is the day I say it. Straight people suck.”   
Thomas sneered, giving him a dirty look, “How the hell do you know he’s straight?” he kept walking right past Alex, expecting him to follow, “You try to seduce him with your whore ass in exchange for entry and get rejected?”

“No.” Alex spat, still grumpy, “I can just tell.”   
“Alright. Let me know when you’re done hating three fourths of the population; I’ll be in my garage.” he continued on his way, but Alex trotted up to his side. He was like a puppy, give him three seconds and he blew off the last three, forgetting what he was even complaining about. Behind his sunglasses, Thomas gave Alex a good scan up and down. 

He only let his submissives wear nice clothes, but that usually amounted to polo shirts and bowties. Alexander was  _ lethally  _ badass. 

His sunglasses were the perfect shape for his face and obviously designer like the rest of his suit. The baseball cap was on backwards, his long hair flowing out under it to his shoulders like a young boy, and his feet were clad with all whitewashed balenciagas. Thomas was wearing black ones. 

But the outfit wasn’t the half of it: strapped across his back was his assault rifle of choice, his full midnight black MK18 CQBR MOD O. It was light and convenient, only six pounds. If Thomas were to hold the weapon, it would look small in his hands, but for a five-foot-six Alexander, it was perfect. 

“Take a picture; it’ll last longer.” Alex cast a glance up to Thomas, who looked away.   
He grunted vaguely, “Maybe I will. For my Script account.”   
“Ah, nice.” Alex bobbed his head like the fuckboy he was, grinning. They passed by the rows of glittering black vehicles side-by-side, making casual conversation.    
“You can violently whack your meat to it.”   
“Obviously.” 

After Snapchat went out of style in the 2050s when people realized nothing of theirs was private anymore, MyScript--shortened in everyday language to "Script"-- took the lead for being  _ the  _ most secure place online. Eventually, it was used less for socializing and more for saving things for oneself: cherished videos, memories that were slightly embarrassing, funny videos, and--of course--nudes and sex tapes for private viewing.

Thomas hadn’t touched his account since the day Randolph died. 

At the end of the general garage, there was a huge, almost too large to comprehend semi-circled space that sprawled upwards several levels. Far up into the ground above them. All around each level were garage doors of the highest no-touch technology imaginable with a platform at ground level to bring cars down. 

But the first floor only had a single door right in the middle. 

Now, the rule was that every driver agent had their own garage. Thomas smirked as he approached the bottom floor that only had one single door. He reached inside his suit lapel to produce his card.

Thomas, on the other hand, had his own floor. 

What was to be expected for the best driver in the world? 

The sniper piped up from a stone-throw away, “Fair warning, I might orgasm when the door opens.” Alexander laughed, leaning up against the wall in his usual leisurely manner. Thomas huffed in amusement, giving him a sideways glance as he approached the waiting keypad. 

“Develop a sexual attraction to cars? I thought your kinks had reached the humanly limit.” 

“No, no cars. But money and power are turn-ons, and I know you too well not to think you didn’t spoil yourself some more while I was gone.”

“What’re you implying?” Thomas inquired lightly, pressing the card to the pad with a click so that the digital number keys lit up for him to press. He tapped his code into it with his long fingers, a little beep for each digit. Alex put one food up on the wall and shrugged, hands in his armpits casually.    
“You know what I mean.”

“Well. I confess I’ve upped my collection, but that’s what it'll always be. A collection.” he looked across at Alex as he tucked his card back into his pocket and shook his head once, “Anyone can try. And they have. Nothing can unseat the Nightcrawler.”

“Any idiot can see why.” Alex laughed, “That machine was hand crafted and designed for murder and sex.”   
“Ah, your favorites.” Thomas jested, but only jokingly as the door began to clang loudly, mechanisms turning and churning within the walls.

Quietly, Alexander pushed off the wall--his rifle was digging into his back anyway, and he unbuttoned his suit as he walked forth to take his place behind Thomas. The taller man sniffed, straightening up and parting his feet on the floor as Alex stepped up and halted, letting his suit flaps fall aside and reveal his double snake belt. Alex glanced up at Thomas with his glasses-clad face. 

“Gonna give me a tour of driver-boy’s playground? I wanna see your new toys.”   
Thomas retained his stony expressionless features as he spoke with only his lips, “You mean show you around as you relentlessly beg me to fuck you in every car.”

Alexander scoffed in sarcastic offense, “A little offended, but I'll take the offer.”   
Thomas only grunted as the garage door shrinking into place with a clancing bang that echoed far up into the spiral, out into the large space for the bureau cars. There was a pause. 

Alexander blinked, surprised at the darkness. For as far as the eye could see, there was only black, empty space. It had the energy of a deep cave--one where you just _know_ innately that there is something lurking within, perhaps all around you, upon you, but it is out of sight. 

Then, there was another clang. The front two lights turned on above them, long panels of glowing, white brightness. Alex looked up at Thomas, watching in the man’s opaque glasses reflection what was happening next.    
With an echoing “shunk!”, the next row of lights turned on, then the next, speeding up down and down to the very end, igniting the room rapidly from front to back in segments.

Alexander’s heart pattered with thrill in his chest, and then it was over. The sound faded, followed by a deep, resounding hum as a glow along the floor lit their path down the middle. As Thomas strode forth nonchalantly, Alexander only gaped at what he saw in the lit garage. 

The driver hadn't been lying. He had upped his collection. And a fucking helluva lot.

Along both walls of the garage and the back one, hypercar after glittering hypercar stood, parked at the ready, each one with lighting around the parking space to show off the sheer badassery of each and every vehicle. The light gleamed off the polished hoods and windows, the epic angles and curves of the powerful machines, just waiting to be driven. 

Rows… and rows... and rows of cars; Alex had to stare in utter bafflement. 

There were twenty on each side and seven at the end, organized by color because Thomas was just such an asshole like that. And to think he called Alexander spoiled… This was a sick, almost  _ filthy  _ rich collection of cars that no one person should have. And yet Thomas had it.

The majority were black and silver with different colored accents, but there were some jaw-dropping blood red lamborghinis that made Alexander’s mouth water, as well as a matte gold down at the end. But despite the prestige of the awe-striking, sheer amount of cars, in the middle of it all was the absolute jewel of Thomas’s collection, his most glorious possession.

Raised on a circular dais, lit around it to exemplify the sinister beauty was his dark mistress, his black beauty. The Nightcrawler. 

The matte black, custom made Lamborghini Veneno stood raised above them all, a spectacle to behold. God, did the memories come flooding, rushing back, the hours screaming through the city streets in that machine, shattering the night with the wail of the engine. Alexander slowly shook his head, inhaling. No matter how many times he saw it, it was more ravishing each time. 

The boy stepped forth after Thomas, who was striding down the lit pathway up the middle, casual, as he’d spent a lot of time in here with the new innovations already. Alex shifted the gun on his back, walking off the path a few steps to get up close to the cars and look at them. He came up to a matte silver vehicle and gingerly extended his hand to touch. He trailed his fingertips across the golden Lamborghini emblem of a bull inside of a shield, feeling the smooth bumps. 

“Don’t touch anything.” Thomas didn’t even look at him, pressing his hand to the side of the Nightcrawler’s platform to bring it down. Alexander smiled to himself, breathing in the musk of new cars and rubber. It was a good smell.

“Hey, Thomas, all these cars compensating for something?” he taunted, “Perhaps something not so large?”   
There was a deep, exaggerated sigh of pure exhaustion, “If you’re referring to my phallic member, Alexander, no. My cars are not compensating for a micropenis that I don’t have.”   
Alexander hissed a breath in through clenched teeth, cringing as he turned away from the car he had been touching, a silver, four-seater Lamborghini Aventador. 

“Yikes. Phallic member.” Alexander winced, leaning up against the hood of the car to watch the platform seamlessly lower to the ground, spinning slowly as it did so. The Nightcrawler’s windows glittered in the white light. 

“That’s real attractive, Thomas. ‘Suck my phallic member’, ‘hey bitch, come sit on this phallic member’, ‘My name’s Richard, but you can call me phallic member--’.” 

“Alexander, close your mouth and get over here before I literally smack you into tomorrow.” 

He had kind of seen that coming, so he stood up straight and strode up to Thomas, rifle bouncing against his ass. As the platform sunk level with the floor and rotated the Lambo facing the exit, Alex slung his assault rifle elegantly off his back, clasping it in his right hand. 

“Yes, darling?” he purred as he came up to the side of the car where Thomas was waiting for him. 

The man was a tall drink of water, especially in that fucking suit. With his green-tinted sunglasses and slick-back hair, he was basically begging for Alexander to play naughty with him. Everything from his belt to the gun at his hip was turning Alexander on without even  _ trying _ . But Thomas wasn't stupid. He wasn't oblivious. He had planned ahead for that kind of behavior that he knew too well of the brat. 

“Gun in the car.” Thomas grunted, back against the side as he nodded down to Alex’s door. The kid shrugged, already slightly skeptical, “Okay.” he agreed, reaching down for the handle.   
“And by the way, I kind of remember that that’s step one. Just an FYI that I’m not impaired.” he laughed in a muffled manner with his head in the car, bending over to hook the gun up under the rig in front of where his knees would go. Thomas didn’t respond. He watched his every move, waiting patiently like a cobra before the strike. He was patient. Very patient. 

Alex sighed, casting a glance over his shoulder, his hair spilled down and hung from his face.   
“You gonna get in, Jeeves, or should I drive too?” he snorted discourteously, tossing his hat and sunglasses on the dash and lifting a foot to swing inside. That was when Thomas moved.   
In one swift, pre-planned movement, the taller man whirled around and struck his hand out, hooking four fingers up under Alexander’s expensive belt around his tiny waist and jerked him backwards. With a foot already up and off balance, Alex cried out a yelp and stumbled backwards, vulnerable for Thomas to manipulate. 

Jaw clenched, the older agent grasped for Alexander’s arms and pulled them behind his back, grunting as he slammed the door closed with a knee so that Alex couldn't escape inside the car. The smaller struggled with echoing sounds of strain, yanking for a moment, but Thomas didn’t give him any leeway. Instead, he slammed Alexander down, bent over the roof with a booming “bang!”. 

“Augh!” Alexander roared, gritting his teeth as Thomas trapped him between his knees, holding both wrists behind his back with one hand and shoving Alex’s face down to the cool roof of the car with the other. He wasn’t gentle.    
“ _ Jesus  _ what the  _ fuck _ , Thomas!” Alexander snarled viciously, but Thomas pressed his full body against him, pinning him ruthlessly. 

“Listen to me right now, and listen to me closely, you little brat.” Thomas snarled. With one foot, he kicked Alexander’s feet apart, forcing him down even shorter, even more powerless beneath his crushing, suffocating hold. Thomas pressed the heel of his palm into Alex’s cheek, holding his head still.

“I know your bastard ass well enough to know you won’t keep a promise without a little persuasion. So let me enlighten you.” Alexander’s tie was caught at his belly, choking him a bit. His entire body was squeezed against the hard surface of that sultry, sexy car; he could smell his own minty breath reflecting off the roof. Most of Alex’s body was roaring with pumping blood and rage, furious he had let Thomas best him. The rest was  _ yearning _ , keening to be naked. 

“Enlighten me?” Alex spat animalistically, jerking violently, but Thomas only pressed harder, wiggling his hand between Alex’s back and his own belly. In a split second, Alexander gasped at the pain and stiffened violently, realizing that Thomas had just yanked him into an armhold. 

The sniper craned his eyes, trying to look out the corner into Thomas’s face with repulsion. 

“How dare you--”   
“Shut up--”   
“Don’t tell me to--”   
Thomas inhaled sharply, applying pressure to the hold, “I said shut up, or I’ll break your arm, Hamilton.” his voice was caustically serious, “You choose.” and Alex fell silent, not stopping his tiny squirming against the hold. Thomas kept him pinned down as he spoke, lowering his voice to a deep growl that Alex could physically feel in his chest. 

“Good. I’ll be very clear, Allie, so we can both get this over with. We can fuck around with our little sex affair at HQ, but in public there’d better be zilch, you hear me?” he dictated, “You even try to touch me… or mess with me out there on camera, and I will  _ fuck  _ you up so badly you’ll wish you were never born, Hamilton.” 

Alexander coughed, face still smashed against the roof of the Nightcrawler, “You hypocritical sack of dogshit.” he jerked, “Do you hear yourself?” The roof of the car fogged a bit at Alex’s mouth.

Thomas pressed his hips up against Alexander roughly, letting him feel how much he didn’t care, “There’s no cameras in here, bitch. I can do whatever I want to you, but I won’t. Because I won’t need to, won’t I?” he questioned lightly. He dipped his head down over Alexander’s lowering his lips close to his upturned ear. 

“Because you’re going to watch yourself and mind your behavior, aren’t you?” 

“Yeah. How about this, Thomas:” Alex scoffed, “Bite me.” 

Thomas screwed up his lips and lifted his head to lay hard against Alexander, putting maximum pressure on his arm and shoulder. This time, Alex genuinely cried out, enough so that it rang back several times in the open space. It split both ears. Each time it echoed back, it was increasingly, blatantly obvious. 

Alex cringed; he knew it--they both knew it. That was a moan…

As it faded, they could both tell by Alex’s pause, his throat bouncing in a swallow, the quick flutter of his eyes that he had just gotten hard. Not just from the delicious pain or Thomas pressed against his backside, but also the humiliation of having just  _ moaned  _ while being threatened over the roof of a car.

Just a centimeter. He squirmed just a centimeter to get his hardening cock off the pressing surface, and oh did Thomas  _ know _ . 

The taller man leaned down--all the way down--once again, but this time it was slower, more deliberate. The purpose was to humiliate, and it was working like a charm. Thomas looked straight ahead, whispering directly into Alex’s ear, which was between his thumb and index finger.

“Hm. Hot and horny, huh?” he questioned rhetorically, and Alex pouted in embarrassment, blowing a bit of stray hair out of his face that had fallen down over his eyes, “I’ll address that issue if you get your _ behavior _ …. back on track. But with how you’re acting right now, I’d be surprised if you got anything less than sent to bed with your hands tied behind your back and thirty minutes of climaxless stimulation.”   
Alex writhed a tiny bit, stepping his feet on the floor, but Thomas’s knees kept him in place, the hand on his head keeping him smashed to the car. The taller tilted his head down on Alex as he increased the pressure further, and Alexander actually whimpered.  _ whimpered _ .

That was when Thomas decided that the was going to fuck this twink tonight whether he was good or not. His treatment would vary based on that. 

“Yeah, that hurts, doesn’t it?” Thomas rumbled deeply into his ear, lowering closer so that his lips brushed Alex’s skin, “But I’ll snap your fucking shoulder if you move again without my consent. How’s that for pain, you masochistic little fuck-slut?” 

This time, Alexander didn’t respond, panting beneath Thomas and making a slightly-pained grimace. If Thomas was trying to whip him into shape, he’d better stop slut shaming him like that, because all it was doing was propelling Alex deeper into horny frustration. Thomas  _ wanted  _ him to act up. 

Best to stay quiet. But fuck, he’d have given anything to be able to turn around and  _ grind _ up against Thomas—crotch, thighs, belly, anything; he needed it  _ bad _ , and it needed to be Thomas for some stupid, irritating reason. Alex hated to admit it, but he ruined himself for this man; nobody else could get him off anymore, and they knew it, not even Washington. Not to even mention that he was beginning to feel that stolen, ruined orgasm from the night before last, the itching dissatisfaction it had caused him. The utter lack of any climax after so much frustrating buildup. 

He was going to need some attention tonight.

“Thought so.” The older nodded briskly, “Now tell me right now that you’re going to act your age and profession, and keep your hands to yourself on camera.”    
Alex screwed up his lips, “You piece of--”

“Right. Now.” Thomas’s voice was cool, but it was…  _ too  _ quiet to mean anything but a serious threat. Alexander was seriously close to crossing the line. The kid exhaled a frustrated breath. “I’ll keep my hands to myself.”   
“‘Keep my hands to myself…’” Thomas prompted, nodding his head along.

“Sir.” Alexander finished. Thomas dipped his head down low. 

“Sir.” he breathed, echoing Alexander, “Very good.” He gave a few more moments as he slowly released the pressure from Alexander’s arm in the gradual way he knew would cause no pain from shock--careful with him as always, “You want to go?”

“If by that you mean fight, yes.” Thomas huffed a little amused chuckle through his nose.    
“Nope, but more than happy to go through with that when we’re back. A little sparring wouldn’t hurt. Wouldn’t hurt me, that is.”

Alex spoke through clenched teeth, “You couldn’t lay a finger on me if you tried, you fat ass-licker. Also, I wanted to leave a  _ different  _ kind of cheek-print on your car, but whatever.”   
“Mm.” Thomas grunted, “rain check.” as he slid his hand down Alex’s neck to rest at his left shoulder, feeling the smooth suit fabric. He toyed at the collar. 

Alex lifted his head an inch from the foggy spot where he had been breathing, trying to sit up with a smile on his face now, “Is that implying that you  _ will  _ eventually fuck me on the car?”

Thomas laughed out loud, a sound that echoed in the deep garage, and he pulled Alex up into a standing position, turning him around gently by the shoulders.    
“If and when I fuck you on my favorite possession, it won’t be a moment sooner than I decide.”

“Your favorite possession?” Alex cocked his head with a parted-lip smile, giving him that sexy look with just a  _ hint  _ of the madness within. He smiled wider, and slowly… careful not to make any sudden movements, curled his fingers around the bottom of Thomas’s black tie. He lowered his eyes to the ground. 

“I thought I was your favorite possession.” Alex looked up at him with a bit of a melancholy expression, teasing in faux bashfulness from below his long lashes. With the same caution, he placed his second hand above his first, thumbing the material. Thomas’s eyes darted down to what Alex was doing, but the kid didn’t know that; unlike him, Thomas’s eyes were still shielded behind the sunglasses, making his expressions nigh impossible to read. Alex bit his lip. 

Thomas hated the urge, but oh, did he  _ have  _ it right then and there--the urge he’d found with other subs rarely, but with Alexander he never thought he’d experience until he had given him that necklace. The Spoiling Urge. 

He had the dominant desire to click his tongue and cup his cheek, stroking the pad of his thumb over the slick wetness of his gorgeous lips. Call him pretty. But… this was Alexander, Alexander Hamilton. He raised himself taller, shoving the temptation down and away.

“I value this car ten fold more than you.”    
“Ah, come on, Thomas.” Alexander smirked, leaning back against it and propping one heel up on the edge of the front tire, “How much was the car?” as he leaned back, he brought Thomas with him a bit, hands still lazily on his tie. Without any external guidance, the driver inhaled deeply, seeming to grow larger as he placed a hand on either side of Alexander--not touching him at all, just intimidating. He bobbed his head from side to side.

“Who the fuck raised you to ask financial questions like that?”   
“Since when do I give shits about manners? How much was the car?”

There was a pause where Thomas literally looked like a statue titled “The Expressionless FBI Agent”. Then he spoke.   
“Thirteen million.”

“Woof.” Alexander exhaled with puffed cheeks, widening his eyes a bit to shake his head in surprise. He slid his hand gradually up the tie, pulling Thomas one step closer, “You gotta fuck me from behind on it.”

Thomas blinked, knowing he shouldn’t ask for the sake of not bleaching his brain afterward, but he had to, 

“Can I ask why?”   
“Cause it’s on my bucket list to jizz on something worth twice my childhood neighborhood.” The kid laughed, finishing on a sigh. Thomas didn’t move. Alex sniffed, shifting his weight but not uncomfortable,

“Anyway. I take top place. Your fucktoy here is worth one billion two hundred thousand dollars.” he lifted his chin up with a tiny tilt, an arrogant, cocky air surrounding him like an aura. The same smug look stayed on his face as he spoke again, “One billion two hundred thousand four. One billion two hundred thousand eight…” Thomas shook his head once, slowly. Whoever decided to give this kid a dollar more than minimum wage was probably kicking themselves in the face right now. 

“Well. Guess you have something to cross off your bucket list, then.” The driver pursed his lips, patting the roof of the car once before pushing off with his hands and standing straight once more, tie slipping through Alex’s fingers and swinging with a tap back against his belly. Alex felt a little empty at the loss of his presence, shortchanged. As he stepped away, Alex stood in the same place, wheels spinning in his head. 

Wait a fucking minute. His brows flicked down, and he turned back around to face the car, looking at Thomas over the roof.

“What?” he asked rudely. Thomas shrugged, obviously trying to contain a smile as he bent down and lifted the car handle, pulling the door open.   
“You jizz on yourself all the time, Mr. Billion.” he finally grinned, swinging down into his seat with a huff, the car moving a bit, and Alexander shook his head with a smile on his face, bending over to swing himself into his comfortable seat. he bounced as he pulled in the car door, shutting it and sealing both agents within.

He swung his head to Thomas, who shuffled twice in his seat, wiggling to get comfortable.   
"Jefferson's got jokes today?"  
"Jefferson's got truth. _Every_ day." he corrected, twisting to pull down his seatbelt, with a "zip!" and looking over at Alex, "Fasten your seatbelt."

"You should say that before sex too."  
"Alex."  
Alexander held both hands up to simulate a wheel, "Fasten the hell up, fuckboys; shit's about to get wild. Are ya ready kids?" he mocked Thomas's deep Southern accent.  
"Alex." Thomas cut him off again, firmer this time, "The windshield is expensive and I don't want your thick head to go through it. So buckle up, buttercup." he rolled his eyes and turned forward to swipe his keys off the dash where he left them in every car. Not like anybody was going to steal them. Thomas pushed the keys into the ignition, but let them dangle there with a jangle of metal.  


Alex twisted in his seat and pulled the belt over his chest and lap, clicking it.

"Aww. He cares."  
"What was that?"  
Alexander gave Thomas a coy little smile as the man tapped the arm of his sunglasses, watching the light display pop up in front of his eyes.   
"You have a roundabout way of saying it, but Tommy Jeffs cares about little Allie baby."

"No I don't." he snorted, making a face, "And you can't call yourself that. It's not how it works."

"Alright." Alex lifted his sunglasses off the dash, inhaling the eternal scent of new-car within the Nightcrawler. As he exhaled, he said something that sounded suspiciously like "Alliebaby", but Thomas ignored it. He held his finger to the arm of his glasses at his temple and began to speak in the muffled interior of the vehicle as Alex placed his sunglasses on his nose, threading the arm through his hair over his ear.

"Agent Jefferson to Headquarters." he rumbled in that deep-ass voice that Alexander craved.   
"Tech Department to Agent Jefferson." a cool female voice responded with a Korean accent. 

Thomas cleared his throat, leaning back into his seat as he shifted his hips beneath his seatbelt to place his foot on the pedal. Unexpectedly to Alexander, Thomas reached forward and turned the key in the ignition with a click, and a _roar_. Alex's heart immediately leaped into overdrive, into mission-mode, the adrenaline pumping. A smile split his face. Beneath them, the vehicle rumbled, growling and echoing in the space. 

On the dashboard, all of the controls lit up, flooding Alex's eyes with life. The car was basically a living thing as it sat there and vibrated, engine more than ready to bolt into action. Thomas placed a single, lazy hand up on the wheel, picture-worthy with his suit cuff and expensive watch. 

"Send me the vehicle tracker for drug operation no. 3261."  
"The vehicle is described as an unmarked white Volvo semi. Sending tracking information now."   


Thomas lifted his finger from his glasses, ending the conversation as he saw the tracker number appear before his eyes and dissolve, signifying that it was implementing itself into the auto-map in his sunglasses. 

The driver glanced over at Alexander, the boy basically vibrating with excitement as he scrolled through his phone for music, already connected to the Nightcrawler. It recognized his phone immediately. Something within Thomas lifted too, giddy. He leaned deeper into his seat, and just as a little treat to his well-behaving partner, he revved the engine twice, listening to it basically scream in the large space. Alex laughed out loud, pure, almost childish, and Thomas felt something warm inside of him. 

Alexander laughed a lot. But this was a different sort of joy, coming from deep within his belly. And it was beautiful.

With no jolt whatsoever, Thomas eased down on the pedal with expert precision and sent them rolling forward down the slight decline into the general garage, engine snarling, basically begging to be driven. Alex kept smiling, seemingly unable to stop. 

"We've got a big day today, driver-boy."  
"Mm." Thomas acknowledged, "How so?" he let the boy talk. Alex slid his hat off the dash with a tiny scrape dropping it in his lap.

"We've got a mission to do. You've got an ass to fuck halfway to hell and back the millisecond we return. You're going to read me the Schuyler cipher, and." he turned his face to Thomas, smirk tugging his lips beneath his sunglasses, "You've got one angry fucking Frenchman to fight."  
  
Thomas rotated his palm around the wheel in a way that was somehow sexy, maneuvering them expertly onto the car-elevating platform at the center of the general car garage. He eased on the brakes, halting them as he darted a glance to Alex.  
"I what?"  
Alexander nodded, "Yeah. Your toxic amount of testosterone basically challenged our boss to a fistfight. So congratulations to you." Alex smiled smugly, leaning back in his seat, comfortable and relaxed, "that'll be an interesting funeral."  
  
Thomas breathed in. He'd forgotten about that.   
"Well. If he wants to fight like men, he can come talk to me."

"I think _you_ want to fight like men. Don't you?" Alexander selected a song and clicked the volume button on the side of his phone with a thumb six times to raise the volume to max. 

The intro of Cartier Harden by City the Mask started to play on the surround sound, setting the mood, encapsulating them. It was dark and epic, a brutal base drop on the way, but not yet. With a loud clang outside of the car, the platform began to raise, lurching once and then gliding upwards, upwards, carrying them closer to the surface. 

Alexander's heart beat faster. Faster. Thomas's fingers twitched on his leather steering wheel.   
"I'd win." he responded simply. He shrugged his shoulders half a centimeter. Alex clicked the volume up one more as they neared the surface, the light of day visible through the windows.

Thomas had an odd way of saying things that Alex was beginning to figure out. And _that_ right there was Thomas's "If we're fighting over you, Alexander, yes. I want to."

Alex pushed his glasses up onto his nose, horny for some action. Horny for a gunfight, for a drift in this hypercar.

His right hand left his phone sitting on his thigh and gently pushed his suit flap aside, resting on his Taran Tactical Glock that he had named Eurmaeker years ago. A clever name, if he did say so himself, one that people often had a difficult time figuring out what it meant. The platform jolted into place, and Alex could read Thomas up and down, not just his face but his entire body. He was itching, chomping at the bit to get going. 

Even on the slick floor of the abandoned warehouse, Thomas could hold back no longer. He had been waiting for this too long.

The driver bit his lower lip and fucking _floored_ it. The engine _roared_ , splitting the silence as the wheels spun, kicking up dust. He cast one glance to Alexander. Alexander gave one back. As soon as the car bolted forward, an epic feat of modern machinery, wailing in a high pitched whine as they streaked out of the warehouse and onto the long road, the base dropped. Perfect. 

It was like a dream. A movie. The caterwaul of the car, the utter euphoria of freedom. In a moment of impulsivity, Thomas rolled down both their windows with the press of a button on one of his screens, sending the wind whistling through the car yet not nearly drowning out the throbbing music. It flowed through Alexander's long mane of hair. 

Thomas didn't even comprehend that he was doing it to hear his partner laugh like that again. And Alex did. 

Still biting his lip, Thomas veered onto the main road, back wheels drifting with a scream of rubber on pavement. Alex moved his face towards the window, and for the first time in a long time, the sun fell across his skin, warm and bright and wonderful. The outside air smelled so... clean. Locks fluttering at his shoulders, he couldn't contain it anymore and whooped, holding absolutely nothing back. 

The music boomed, subwoofers and base going absolutely mad, brutally amplified to perfection, and Thomas didn't even have his eyes on the road. 

  
They were only on Alexander as he shook out his mane like a great stallion, throwing his head back in pure joy and howling another long whoop of glee, the smile glowing on his face. 

Thomas couldn't imagine what it must feel like to be here after a long year of losing hope. 


	17. The Fates Intertwine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short flashback chapter! Never fear, half of next chapter is already written, so get ready to sit back for some action! So much love to all supporters and to the beautiful and encouraging comments that keep me going. Thank you <3 <3
> 
> (P.s. happy Hamilton day! I hope that everyone will get the opportunity to watch the movie at some point!! It blew my mind all three times I've watched it! :D )
> 
> (P.P.S in case a reminder is needed, the year that is "the present" in this work is 2067) :)

July 30, 2065

“You know, you’re being a real dick.” 

Thomas slapped down his newspaper onto the table out of the blue, looking up to Alexander across from him. His sniper was slouched down in his chair on his phone, flicking Thomas one dark look from beneath his brows and went back to it without saying a word.

Thomas looked to the ceiling on an inhale, silently recollecting his temper, but it wasn’t easy, not after the lengthy toil. Alex had been like this all morning even when they had made an impromptu run to Target to pick up a display of crackers that was now set out pitifully on the table, looking scrawny compared to the grandeur of Alexander's apartment. He was acting like a jerk, and they both knew it, one just wasn’t willing to admit it.

When he looked back, temper in place, Alexander was in the same position, blatantly blowing him off with his nonverbal “fuck you”. That was it. Time to speak up.

“Hey. Hey.” Thomas snapped, forcing Alexander to look at him, irritated, “Don’t ignore me like a little bitch.” The kid stared at him with a glare that could cut steel, hazel eyes unforgiving. He moved his lips in singularity. 

“Fine.” he recited in the driest tone he could possibly muster, monotoning insufferably as he tapped at his screen once more and went back to his business without any change in demeanor, both elbows on the arms of his chair, reclined back. He was in full black-and-white suit like Thomas, both of them in Alexander’s apartment in HQ. 

They were seated at his redwood dining room table, the elaborate red, glass light display suspended above him and the glow from the “windows” filling the space with bright cheer that didn’t match either of their moods. He always had his windows set to depict the shoreline view from his house in The Hamptons, almost as if he was there when they were at HQ--his personal getaway apartment. 

Thomas ground his jaw briefly, going in for yet another attempt to crack his friend’s stubborn shell. He let his knuckles fall to the table in a little knocking motion and cocked his head.

“You gonna tell me what’s up with the attitude, or were you planning on getting your act together before he arrives?” Thomas’s voice was laced with a scoff, and Alexander sneered right back. These two argued a lot--it was part of their job--but this was an overreaction on the seventeen-year-old sniper’s part. This was all him. 

Alex tossed his phone carelessly onto the table, abrupt, and it clattered down noisily in a manner that made Thomas jump. The sniper wasn’t usually erratic, so this was unusual of him, and it made Thomas uneasy. Alex took a deep breath and thumped back into his chair, tossing his hair back from his face.

“Sorry,  _ dad _ , for thinking this is just a little  _ fucking  _ ridiculous.” he jerked his head as he spoke the acidic words.

Thomas held out his hands in innocence, shaking his head, “Hey, don’t preach to  _ me _ , Allie, I didn’t want this either.” he scoffed, “You think I want a preppy Princeton prat on our asses? I don’t, and I’m not being a fucking douche about it.”

“Washington is.” Alex stood up in indignation, lifting his hands limply in mild frustration around his head, “Washington’s to blame for this.” he growled, pushing his seat back with a screeching sound as he began to pace off to the side, leather soles clunking on his hardwood floors.

Thomas remained, head following Alexander’s indignant movements as he wandered, off in his own head with his own thoughts again. This wasn’t any better than the silence, but at least now he was finally letting the words fire out of him like rapid-fire bullets. The boy inhaled sharply, getting ready to spew more criticism. 

“We’re the top agents with a success rate of  _ one hundred percent _ . That's fucking unheard-of. What kind of ass-for-brains idiot would fuck this shit up?” Alex scoffed with an incredulous smile, his light blue braces glittering in the falling light, “Other agencies would  _ kill  _ to employ us, Thomas, and Washington’s treating us like interns.”

“Alright, I get that you’re pissed,” Thomas’s tone was tight and terse, head dipped dangerously in warning, “But I wouldn’t say shit like that in front of him, or he’ll think the FBI is some kind of fucking joke, Allie.” Thomas asserted, but Alex just kept walking, slowly placing his hands on his tiny hips, pushing back his suit flaps and holding onto his belt, "I'm serious." Thomas reiterated. 

The sniper stared into the horizon, shaking his head slowly. 

“It is a joke. You know, Washington isn’t the clown, he’s the entire fucking circus." he only turned his head back to Thomas, hands still on his hips, "You know what, fuck him. We don't want the kid, we won't take him. Let’s sit the bitch down and tell him to choke on our balls then piss off.”   
“Allie…”

“He’s too young. Thomas.” Alexander finally clipped in a moment of mini catharsis, turning around to place both palms down on the cool table and glower into the dark eyes of his friend. He made a face just thinking about it. Thinking about sharing his place, his apartment, his status. And... his partner.

“I mean, what the actual fuck?” he blinked incredulously, laughing again, “Eighteen? Does this look like a goddamn daycare to you?”

“He’s a year older than you, you complete  _ ass _ .” Thomas’s brows furrowed down, voice going high with absolute disbelief at the astonishing hypocrisy. Alexander just rolled his head back like Thomas was a bothersome and slow child, impatient with him. His throat fluttered like he wanted to groan, stretched out and strained as his hair spilled over his slim shoulders and rustled against the back of his suit. He hadn't even touched the crackers, which was a sure sign that he was off his game. Alexander Hamilton was always hungry. Thomas tried not to talk as long as Alexander was still willing to do so. 

The kid rolled his head back to the starting point and leaned over the table.

“Jefferson, we can both agree that my case is unique and solitary.” he pressed a finger into the redwood with each word, punctuating, “it was never meant to be repeated. Never.”

“Perhaps you set a dangerous precedent. Congratulations.” Thomas pursed his lips and leaned back from the edge of the table to cross his arms across his broad chest. Alex laughed once more in a patronizing manner, showing his jeweled teeth to Thomas.

“Precedent that, yes, you can be recruited from a fucking high school if you have  _ my  _ credentials--as in nobody else on the fucking planet. Not precedent as in the doors are open for any teenager with his mommy’s handgun and big dreams to make it to the big city.” Alex leered in disgust, “That's ridiculous not to mention unfair." he took a gasp in as if he'd just remembered a point he was going to make. 

"And even if they recruit the bitch, why the hell should he walk into a completed and trained partnership? What right? By who’s fucking authority--”   
“By Washington’s authority.”

“And we come full circle.” Alex released a frustrated breath, pushing off the table with his knuckles to stand again, only five foot five, “Bullshit.” he spat under his breath, “Ass-eating, ball-sweat-licking bullshit.” he cursed, venting his frustration. How the hell on God’s green earth did this happen? In the ensuing silence, Thomas read over the headline for that morning’s journal edition he had set on the table beside his empty, metal coffee cup. 

“HAMILTON-JEFFERSON PAIR TO BE JOINED BY YOUNG PRODIGY, RANDOLPH H. EMERSON (18); MORE TO FOLLOW”

  
Thomas heaved a deep sigh, cursing himself for drinking any coffee because now he was going to get a headache as he always did. He rubbed his fingers over his sinuses, massaging them.    
“Would you at least try not to bite him in the first ten minutes?” he drawled slowly from behind his hand, squeezing his eyes shut.   
Alexander, who was standing in the silence and facing away, twisted his head over his shoulder.

“So you’re already giving up. That’s fantastic.” he scoffed hopelessly, bitingly sardonic. 

“Well, it’s not like we have many fucking options, Allie. Whaddya want me to do? Send him back and say I didn't order an FBI partner with my burger?” 

“Don’t call him that. He’s not our partner.” Alex’s voice was sharp, but Thomas fired right back with equal fire, dominating over his younger counterpart.   
“He is Randolph Emerson. He has a name, and yes, he is our partner, so why don’t you stick your thumb up your ass while you let that sink in.” Thomas slapped his hand down on the paper and clawed it up into a fish for Alexander to see the headline, but the kid looked away, murmuring something to himself. 

Alex was distraught; he didn’t usually act like this, and both of them knew it; that was the humiliating part. Alex wanted to kick himself in the mouth to snap out of it--snap out of this childish bullshit that he avoided like the plague in these adaptive situations. This is what he _did_ , this was his entire occupation: acclimating. Adapting. But no matter his tactics... it was still there. He wanted to vomit, scream, throw something. Telling himself he shouldn't feel it didn't halt the emotion. 

He was never afraid, but he knew the feeling from a long time ago, the rising pressure in the gut, the tightening of the chest. The helplessness. 

He was afraid. Alexander Hamilton was afraid. 

When Washington had first sat the pair down and informed them that there would be an addition, he hadn’t understood his fear, the creeping tendrils curling around his chest, tightening and restricting his breath, his oxygen, everything. But now after too much time to sit on it and mull, it was clear. There was no doubt in his mind that he had preferred the fogginess to the reality. 

He had  _ just  _ gotten here. He had  _ just  _ gone through the blood and sweat of training and trial missions and drug cases with Thomas Jefferson, the man that was destined to be his partner a year before they knew of one another's existence. It seemed predestined. Predestined things didn’t get messed up like this, a destiny scattered with one swipe of the hand like dust from an ancient scripture.

This was right--what they had right now--it was just  _ right _ ; everything was going perfectly, so much so that he hadn't comprehended that something was too good to be true. With his views, he should have seen it coming... the night following the dusk, hanging on by its coattails. In the span of a year, Alexander had gone from struggling to survive on the mafia-riddled streets to the greatest FBI agent of all time. 

And he had a partner, and Alexander had… he had… 

Fuck it--whether Thomas was his friend or his partner had no significance, made no difference: they had each other’s backs, whatever the fuck you call that. That was what they had. how delicate is that kind of bond? If anything changed, all of it could fall away; it could crumble like rubble in his hands, crumble like embers to ash between his fingers. Alex didn’t  _ do  _ this; he didn’t  _ do  _ friendship, and now that he did, he had no idea how delicate it was, how fragile it could be... nor how tightly he was holding onto it in the first place. If Washington added another person… Who's to say what would happen? 

Who’s to say Thomas wouldn’t make a choice?

And now the day had come. The kid was in a meeting with Washington and would head over to move in  _ with Alexander  _ the following day, but for this afternoon, they were to meet. And there was nothing Alexander could do to stop it--nothing he could do to stop the inevitable marching of time. Why didn’t Thomas feel the same way? The fact that Thomas wasn’t fighting for their solidarity as partners burned Alex, it ate him up. 

Now, his head turned at a sound, brows furrowing down in anger, passion swelling. This wasn’t fair.

Thomas let the newspaper fall back to the table with a crinkling of dry paper, crumpled at the top. 

“I’m not ‘giving up’ on something we never had any fucking say in, Allie. You’re twelve years old and have your own house: you can act mature about this like a professional for three minutes--” 

Finally, his jaw clenched, and the surging, the emotion he wasn’t used to experiencing burst free. Looking at Thomas, he couldn't handle it anymore. 

“What about,” Alexander gestured frantically between himself and Thomas with both hands, getting frustrated quickly, his long locks bouncing at the plateau of his shoulders, “ _ this _ .” he blurted out, frustrated.

For a moment, both of them were silent, waiting for the other to speak. Thomas blinked. Without the slightest idea of what Alex was suggesting, his heart started to pound in the ringing silence. Alex’s eyes showed nothing, darting between both of Thomas’s, and suddenly it had become too long.

“I… don’t--” he shook his head slowly, “What?” he managed, giving up on a sentence.

Alex licked his lips, heart racing in his chest now. He didn’t know what was driving his actions right now, but fuck he couldn’t stop it. He needed to stop talking like a moron, but that look on Thomas’s face--so blank and confused. Nothing hurt more...

“I’m not--I didn’t mean--” he strained out a laugh, averting his eyes to look at the floor and shift his weight with discomfort, “Nothing weird, man.” he sniffed, hastily jumping off the topic, “This kid is gonna ruin our occupational association. Our dual partnership--you know he will. Not to mention we have nowhere to put him. On the roof of the car?” he covered up cleanly, but Thomas knew him too well not to catch the awkward moment. 

Still staring up at the standing teenager, he scanned his face. Alex just cleared his throat, lips slightly compressed as he awaited Thomas’s response expectantly. 

And then, in the mind of the driver, it clicked. His heart sank. 

He was… scared. Alexander Hamilton was scared. Why? 

Before he knew he was hesitating, he had waited too long already. What was there to be saying? What was the response he was supposed to give? Without a clue, Thomas parted his lips with an utter lack of words to offer, but the fateful moment arrived. What Thomas would have said in that pivotal moment was forever lost to the universe.

“Hello?” A polite query interrupted Thomas’s proposition and shattered the uncomfortable tension between the friends, both head snapping to the side. Alexander’s heart was still pounding as his light locks fell over his shoulder, lips parted. All of a sudden, both his belt and his tie at his neck felt constricted around his body. In that apartment at FBI Headquarters, a mile underground, two men at a table with a questionable pack of crackers and undone ties, time stopped. Alexander only had one thought ringing in his mind that was so rarely this empty. 

No…

There he stood. With one glance, Alexander knew his name. Randolph Henry Emerson. The name that he didn’t yet know would be tethered to his own for all of time, bound to him with an invisible twine. 

Half of a person was visible, leaning inside of the room, peeking out from behind the door. Randolph.

He wore a suit fitted to his slim frame, a bit lanky and tall, but the fact that it was buttoned up neatly probably exemplified it, hugging his small waist and hips. Alexander scanned him immediately, calculating every aspect as his heart continued to pound… pound… almost in slow motion. 

He wore a black suit jacket and deep green tie--Alexander’s color. Something about it… irked the sniper. It was knotted with precision up at his throat but it was off to the side just the tiniest bit as if he had been nervously playing with it. Alex could see him breathing, and his stomach lurched.

He immediately knew something wasn’t right, and with good reason. His attractive face showed polite uncertainty, but his breathing was even, steady, almost practiced. With parting lips, Alexander made his first of many observations that day. 

He was feigning anxiousness, not composure. He was… faking... 

A red flag went off in the back of Alex’s head, and his heart slowly sank... 

He scanned this stranger quicker now, propelled by his discovery. He was young, but he was tall, far taller than Alexander at an estimated six feet at least. And there was… no doubt that his face was attractive in that boyish way that Alexander possessed. He had darker skin, tanned deeply, and his face bore sharp features around his eyes and brows, but a dimple mark on his left cheek softened his appearance. His black hair spilled in luscious waves over his ears, shorter than Alex’s but longer than Thomas’s. Alexander's attention went directly to the teenager's eyes and stopped. The sniper could see past the feigned uncertainty. 

And the power wafting off of that boy was appalling. 

With two knuckles, he knocked on the doorframe with a nervous laugh, grinning so that his dimple popped.   
“Sorry, it was open, and I didn’t know if I should…?”   
“No worries, come in.” Thomas spoke, and his tone made Alexander’s head  _ snap  _ to the side. It wasn’t his deep rumble, dry and sarcastic. It was higher this time, uncharacteristic, and his Southern accent was stifled. Another alarm went off in Alexander’s head when his partner stood up from his seat, and another.

Alexander had been in his fair share of these situations--meeting new and powerful individuals. He wasn’t stupid. He knew how to regard them off the bat; he knew how to track their reactions and motives. The first time he saw Randolph Emerson and the way he interacted with Thomas, he knew something was off. 

His ears were nearly screaming with the warnings that something was wrong here. Because Thomas’s eyes were locked on Emerson, even when the kid dipped his head and stepped inside of the room. So this was their new partner that the bureau had been whispering about for days. This wasn’t how Alex had envisioned it.

“Should I take off my shoes?”   
“Yes--” Alex cut in with a terse tone.   
“No, it’s fine.” Thomas interrupted him, and Alexander parted his lips in astonishment. His brows furrowed down, and he tried to exchange a glance with Thomas as he always did, those innate wordless conversations that they engaged in without a thought. This was  _ his  _ apartment; who the fuck did Thomas think he was? But no matter how he tried to pry Thomas’s eyes from Randolph, he wouldn’t look. He wouldn’t. Alexander closed his lips, diverting his attention to the clicking of heels across his apartment floor. Alex was mute, bereaved of Thomas’s input. 

Get the fuck out of it. Alex had to snap himself from his comatose state before he missed something important, because something was amiss about this, something that’s scent he couldn’t latch onto. And it was pumping adrenaline into his veins, icy, turning the wheels in his head. With a deep inhale, he stood, all eyes on the taller boy that stepped up onto the raised part of the dining room where the table was set with those embarrassing attempt at formal snacks. With one hand over the buttons of his coat, he extended the other for Thomas to grasp, the closer man. 

This was perfect. Alexander observed carefully the body language of both men. Thomas held down a grin. Randolph did too. And Randolph’s was fake. 

Alexander’s blood spiked. 

“Thomas Jefferson. This is my associate, Alexander Hamilton” Thomas looked over to Alex, lip twitching in a way that told him to get the fuck over there and be polite. Alex’s heart was still plummeting into his stomach. Associate? His head spun.

Despite the squabble in his mind, Alexander elegantly lifted his chin and ran his fingers down the front of his lapels, buttoning them with sophistication. His fingers didn’t even shake over the smooth fabric.

“Agent Hamilton.” he introduced himself coolly, letting his lips curl into their signature smirk of superiority--not showing his braces or displaying his youth. He was used to doing this, but not around other teens; it was men and women twice his age the he was accustomed to. This was an experiment more than anything. He used all of his tricks and tacts to put himself in charge of the older teenager as he strode forth with an air of entitlement as he finished his buttons and looked up to the taller's face, closer to him than he’d anticipated.

For the first time in their lives… the infamous rivals locked eyes, the inseparable destinies that had been parallel for a lifetime colliding to intertwine. The future murderer and victim. The killer and the killed, hazel to deep, dark mahogany. A moment that would ring out and echo for all of time, sending ripples into the folds of the universe. 

And Alexander’s. Heart. Stopped. 

His fingers slipped off his buttons, hands falling to his sides slowly, silent in a moment of rare vulnerability. Randolph’s eyes darted back and forth with rapidity over his face in a way that was all too familiar, eyes widening. Alexander knew what was going on... but it couldn’t be true. It wasn’t possible… Numbly, Alexander extended a hand, recovering from what he had just revealed with a startled flutter of his eyelids. 

Randolph was reading his microexpressions. 

From the first contact of skin-on-skin, Alexander gripped firmly, but both were occupied with the face of the other. The energy passing between them was one of speechless shock--one of  _ power _ \--but more so on Randolph’s part. Alexander recovered his facade quickly, but the older remained visibly skeptical, to Alexander at least. It was like looking right back into a mirror as they each scanned the other’s face, trying to figure them out. 

They didn’t release hands, and Thomas observed this odd introduction. It looked to him like two dogs circling one another, wordlessly acquainting through their eyes, but Alexander wasn’t letting the new kid go. He was trapping him, and Thomas pursed his lips. Of course Alex was going to be a jerk to him. 

“And who might you be?” Alexander finally inquired, sounding incredibly mature for his age, as usual. He could recover superficially from the shock in an instant, but his mind was still in a place of appallment.

“Agent Randolph Emerson. It's an honor to meet you.” he spoke with a voice far kinder than Alexander’s smooth, cunning tone. Alex lifted his chin in a way that allowed him to look down on Randolph despite his lacking height. 

“Nice to meet you, Randolph.” Alex’s voice was tight, and Thomas cut in.   
“Absolutely. Have a seat, man.” Thomas curtailed the teens’ exchange, sensing Alex’s dark mood beneath his charming veneer. 

“Okay.” Randolph responded with a short nod, a smile on his face to pop that dimple again, “And thank you--uh, both of you. I know this was kind of abrupt.”

“We had a meeting with the Director on the matter, so it wasn’t entirely unannounced.” Thomas answered, letting his accent peek in, but still muffling it for some fucking reason as he ran a finger under his nose and turned with a rustle of fabric, Randolph following behind. Alex tried  _ again  _ to make contact with him, but Thomas had already rounded the table and pulled out a chair for Randolph. Alex made a face. What the hell? Thomas Jefferson being a gentleman to someone younger than him? What the fuck was he doing? 

“Oh, good.” The teen responded with a bit of a nervously relieved exhale, casting a glance up to Thomas, “I’m sorry; I’m just a little,” he laughed again, pursing his lips in a self-inforced cringe, “yeah, I’m gonna stop talking now.” 

Thomas laughed a laugh he reserved for Alexander’s little moments, turning a chair to cheat towards Randolph as he slid down into it with a cushion sound. Randolph undid his suit buttons around his green tie, but Alex watched him the whole time. His hands weren’t shaking. He was calm. Randolph was calm.

“Really, don’t worry about it. So are you from DC?” Thomas spurred the conversation.

“Uh, Brazil, actually. My mom was a native, and she had me there, but I don’t remember it. I moved to DC with my dad when I was a month old, so.” he finished with that fucking voice that was so kind and unimposing. It sounded like a singing voice. 

Slowly, like a cat on the hunt, Alexander reapproached his seat, staring at Randolph’s dark-featured face as he did so. He had just met him, but he felt like he’d seen him somewhere before… the more he looked, the more he believed the inexplicable inkling. However, something else clung to him as well: the teen was telling the truth. Alexander could tell in an instant. He _ was _ from Brazil. He _ had _ moved here with his dad when he was a month old, so none of Alex’s suspicions were checking out. 

Thomas nodded along, reclining back in his seat, but Alexander cut into the conversation. 

“I’m sorry, do I know you from somewhere, Randolph?” he placed both hands on the back of his chair, lifting one finger to point at him nonchalantly; nevertheless, his brows knitted down as he inquired. Randolph blinked. 

“I don’t think we’ve met, but, you know.” he shrugged a bit nervously, “It's possible. And I also have one of those faces, I think.” 

“Mm.” Alex grunted, tossing his chin an inch. Truth again. Alex shifted his weight slyly to the other foot, receiving a glare from Thomas that he didn’t return. He had another one up his sleeve.

“Yeah, but I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere. What did you say your last name was again?” Of course Alexander knew it was Emerson. It didn’t matter what Alex knew, it mattered what story Randolph’s face would tell; Alex wanted him to self-incriminate, dig his own grave for Alex to bury him in. The kid swallowed, barely noticeable and hidden under his suit collar, but it was there.    
“Emerson.” 

Lie. That was a lie. Somehow, that fact appeased Alexander, smoothing down his feathers. The boy dipped his head slowly, sliding down into his seat and scooting it up against the edge of the table. He nonchalantly broke eye contact. 

“Nope, doesn’t ring a bell.” he shrugged, telling the truth, “Where do you go to school?”

“Princeton. You?” Randolph responded, and as they talked Thomas began to relax a bit. Randolph seemed nervous and wary, Alexander pushing it, but now they seemed to be having a normal conversation. This was good. 

“ _ Went  _ to Andersen High School. Harlem.”    
“Oh.” Randolph nodded, and didn’t seem to mind the location or the fact that it was a middle school Alexander hadn't even graduated from, “Believe it or not, I know where that is. Up on the East side, right?”

“Yeah, actually.” Alex shifted in his chair with a look telling them to go on, pulling his phone out to check a text that had buzzed loudly against the seat. While he was looking, Thomas took the lead on the icebreakers. 

“Who was your scout?” he inquired, putting his elbow up on the table to lean casually and select a cracker to show Randolph he could take what he pleased. Something about Randolph made him feel comfortable, like he had known him a long time. It wasn’t just that he was, well, undeniably gorgeous; he was just very human. He seemed down to earth in a way that even he himself wasn’t. And he liked him immediately. 

Randolph shuffled in his seat to smile again with that fucking dimple. Thomas’s body rushed with a spurt of adrenaline, heart skipping. 

...What in the name of God? 

“Uh yeah, Hercules Mulligan.”   
“Huh!” Thomas laughed, tossing his head as he munched on the cracker and finished with a swallow, “Same. Allie had John Laurens...” but quickly, his smile faded, dissolving. His brows twitched down, rewinding, “I thought... he’d retired after me.”

Randolph remained completely calm and unphased, letting loose a more effortless laugh this time, “No, you didn’t break the old man, Mr. Jefferson.”   
Thomas laughed, and Alexander discreetly rolled his eyes as he pocketed his phone under his ass, wanting to vomit. Thomas was being a fucking simp and he couldn’t even tell. 

“Thought I had.”   
“Nope. I was his last case, apparently. I’m really not a,” he looked across the table at Alex, the boy’s long, light hair illuminated in the light from the “beach” behind them, “sniper like you, Mr. Hamilton. Not a world-class driver. But I can fight, and I’ve got a head on my shoulders, I think. I just hope I can manage to keep it there.” he placed his hands gingerly on the table like he wasn’t allowed to touch it and rotated his watch, a humble design, not too expensive.

Alexander’s eyes darted down, watching the movement of those tan hands. Randolph watched his own fingers too as Thomas shifted his weight, wanting Randolph to look at him. There was something pleasant and homelike about those dark-chocolate eyes, warm and comforting, and he caught a whiff of his cologne. Lavender scent. Thomas realized he’d almost forgotten to speak, and cleared his throat.

“That’s where we come in. Alexander and I have been partners for half a year now, so we know the ropes.” When Randolph looked over again, Thomas knew he had to establish something, “And don’t call me Mr. Jefferson.” he spoke, watching his own reflection in the dark mirror that was Randolph's eyes.   
“Oh, sorry.” he immediately responded, and Thomas chuckled. 

“Just Thomas is fine. Allie calls me Tommy, so you do what you want.”   
“Go ahead.” Alexander waved his hand flippantly. Wouldn’t be calling Thomas “Tommy” anymore, that was for sure, not if Randolph was doing it. Thomas cast him a questioning glance that wasn’t reciprocated, so instead he cleared his throat and turned back to Randolph, who was at least pretending to be at a loss of words at being given the honor of familiarity. 

Alex couldn't keep his eyes off this agent. Somehow, despite the immediate dislike of this kid so close in age to him, he felt an odd kinship of sorts. Perhaps that they shared the gift of microexpression reading. But he felt like he would get to know him even if it was not his desire. He felt like he was meant to know more about him than he wanted.

“So.” Thomas let his knuckles knock down on the table with a sigh, bouncing his foot, “Initiation tour.” he looked over to Alex, “I was thinking we grab lunch at the HUB then scope the armory. Olive Garden?” he listed Alex's favorite.

“I would be honored to see your garage.” Randolph spoke out, but then toned it down with a nervous twitch of his lips, “I’ve heard a lot about your collection. I’m somewhat of a car guy, actually.”   
“Alright.” Thomas exhaled, placing his palms down on his knees to stand, as he leaned forward, he turned his face to Alexander, and immediately knew something was up.    
“Allie. You coming?” 

“You two go; I forgot I had a meeting with Washington.” Alexander’s decision was out of his mouth before it even went to his brain for approval. Thomas finally met his eyes, a conversation passing between them.    
_ “But you said…?” _

_ “Change of plans, driver-boy.”  _

Alex looked away to focus on Randolph. Once again he scanned his microexpressions, wishing he could just _know_. One again, the sniper and the new agent's eyes locked with a shockwave of electricity coursing through both bodies, a secret passing between both of them. They spoke the same language. 

Thomas was still clueless. He blinked. 

“You... do understand that there’s food involved.” he dipped his head, brows drawn down, “Right?”   
“I can eat later.” Alex tucked his hair behind his ear as he stood from his chair, pushing it back from the table. Alexander not wanting food was a red flag a blind man could see, “I’ll catch you later. Have fun drooling on the cars. And Thomas, pick me up Linguini Alfredo if you're heading to Olive Garden.” he managed a tight smile, but Thomas just stared at him. Randolph, on the other hand, shifted his weight, uncomfortable.

A normal person would feel remorse for being such a jerk to someone they just met, someone who was just trying to be nice and make friends in a new world. One that probably seemed unforgiving, cold, and harsh. But Alexander knew he wasn’t here to make friends. Randolph may appear unalloyed titanium to Thomas and the rest of the world, but Alexander saw him through truth’s lens, a lens only he and Randolph could ever spy through. 

To Alexander, Randolph was as transparent as the surface of a lake, as light itself. He had no idea why the kid was here--who had sent him. His motives for his lies. But he wasn't staying for much longer. 

But as Randolph’s eyes settled on Alexander's back as he turned away and hopped down the step, striding towards the door, Randolph knew that Alexander knew. And the Brazilian knew he had come face to face with the wolf. He knew that this revelation of Alexander’s ability threw off more than could be accounted for unless he was very... very careful. The sniper might try to throw him off the trio, try to expose his underbelly… 

But what Randolph did know was that he had been expecting a herd of sheep when walked unwittingly into the lion's den. And there was no turning back when faced with the monster that was Alexander Hamilton. He knew this now. 

  
  



	18. The Harlem Reaper, the Eight of Hearts, and a Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter: action!!
> 
> Coming up next: S M U T and LOTSA *FEELS* 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoy and stick with me, I am so grateful to have each and every one of you. Your support keeps me going and means everything to me! Sending my love to you all 😊💕

Alex flicked out a red eight of hearts between two fingers with dexterity that could slice skin, and he twirled it between his fingers with snakelike precision. Finally, he stopped all motion, showing the front side between his index and middle finger. 

“Is this your card, driver-boy?”   
Thomas looked up from his phone for half a second, not even moving his head before mumbling at his phone. 

“Always is, Alexander.”

“Though so.” The kid spoke around the lollipop in his mouth with a glittering grin, the round head poking a lump in the side of his cheek that Thomas could see. The white stick bobbed as he closed his mouth and sucked on the candy. In his left ear, Alex also wore the tiny black earpiece that was linked to Thomas and Thomas’s only. He rather liked the new design, self-fitting and easily concealable. 

In a swift maneuver he flickered the card and leafed it into the deck. Thomas ignored the showoff, and Alex pulled off a one-handed shuffle and mixed the deck of cards with a ripping sound as they sifted into one another with little flashes of crimson flecks. The morning light reflected off of them--his signature cards. Alexander had always used the same deck: classic, basic white--a bit yellow with age--with shimmering red and black outlines for the suits, whose pictures were elegantly etched in a sanguine, blood-colored scarlet. It was odd how accurate the hue was. 

Overall, Thomas would have expected him to have gotten new cards by now. Maybe matte black and expensive, but he kept this aged, basic set. Vintage.

“You going to ask why you keep somehow selecting the eight of hearts over and over again?” Alexander inquired with a raised brow, still offhandedly shuffling the cards down by his lap, nonchalant. Thomas inhaled deeply, finally clicking off his phone to a black screen and tucking it into his dress-pants pocket. Without looking at Alex, his lips moved. 

“No.” he twanged.   
“Hm. Pity. Might need it someday soon.” Alex shrugged indifferently, lifting the top card off the deck that he had literally just shuffled and spun it mesmerizingly around his hands and fingers. With a sideways glance, Thomas sniffed and shuffled in the seat of his car, placing his hands up to rest leisurely on the wheel. It was the eight of hearts again.

Why the eight of hearts?

“I’ll let you do the casino work while I do the talking, Sticky Fingers.”    
“Ah, come on. That’s an old one.” Alex slapped the card to the top and bound the deck together with his black metal card clip in his lap, the curly cursive letters “HR” embedded in glinting silver. Thomas shrugged. 

“You have a nickname everywhere your slimy ass goes.”   
“I only like a few. The rest I despise. And you’re one to talk, J-turn.”

“Where does Sticky Fingers fall?” Thomas ignored the nickname that he didn’t like. 

“Somewhere in the middle.” Alex twirled the lollipop in his mouth between two fingers, sucking off it and holding it out in the air as he pulled down the glove compartment with a grunt, tossing his deck in there among the other assortment of objects. He groped around in the dark, touching random shit before he found the smooth finger of his glove and fished it forth followed closely by its partner. 

“MetalMouth and Babyface I didn’t like at first, but they grew on me. Everyone likes calling me a baby.”   
“Can’t see why…” Thomas cleared his throat as he spoke, hindering his words, but Alex seemed to go on anway.

“Doesn’t matter. Two names so far are the ones that  _ really  _ stuck.” he popped the lolly back into his mouth, sucking on the warm caramel flavor and swirling it around his tongue. As he did so, he held the hem of one leather glove and slid his hand inside, finding all of the fingers correctly. 

“The Harlem Reaper.” he listed his most famous name with a sick sense of pride. Thomas licked his lips without Alex seeing, as he hated the bone-chilling street name given to a sixteen-year-old. Alex leaned back in his comfortable seat, seatbelt long off, and he finally reached down to his holster, popping off the top with a click and extracting Eurmaeker from her resting place.

“And Eight Shot.” he shrugged casually, placing the weapon suggestively in his lap, folding his gloved hands over the black and silver thing as he relaxed in his seat, “can’t seem to shake that one.”

“Good luck ever doing so.” Thomas responded maturely, not daring to get in a fight with Alexander now even though he was pushing all his buttons, pushing all the limits he had probed for and located. They were only minutes away from the loading of the truck, and there they sat at the North side of the vast district, nothing but dusty, cracked blacktop, and warehouse after warehouse at varying stages of paint decay. 

It was a windy day, the breeze blowing out last night’s storm, and the grimy pavement was still slick and wet from the precipitation, giving off the pleasant petrichor odor, a bit hindered by gasoline from the occasional passing semi or pickup. All in all, the place was banal and mind-numbingly dull, a place that Alexander curled his lip at. And hence came the card tricks he was so fond of. 

Thomas had a good few up his sleeve--no pun intended--for instances of survival, but Alexander had the fancy ones as well, the less dirty tricks, but in a sense far more filthy in terms of overall trickery. Thomas, on the other hand, was the master of the billiards. The pool table was his playground, whereas Alexander took the table games. Both men, surprisingly, were matched at darts. Together, any nightclub or casino was their oyster.

Thomas watched the shadows of the rapidly moving clouds passing overhead on the pavement, bored. He could keep himself stimulated for longer than Alexander could without any means of entertainment, but Alexander on the contrary could keep himself entertained with one game or item for hours at a time. It was astonishing. 

Thomas had once watched him trying to solve a Rubik’s Cube for the entirety of a nine hour flight, only to find that he was trying to get it at the most difficult possible combination because it was too easy as it was. When they’d gotten to Italy, Thomas had bought him a new Rubik’s Cube, nine-by-nine and shuffled it for him. But he had solved it on the ten minute drive back to the hotel. 

Alex gazed out the windshield for a few moments, scanning the scene before them. Just barren ground and the corner of a warehouse, sun-bleached, peeling paint glaring back at him. He quickly grew bored and sighed, crossing his ankles and fishing his phone from his pocket to check a couple texts from John:

“Good luck, man. Watching the drone now but ur windows r opaque.”   
Alex sniffed and adjusted the object in his hands, placing his thumbs on the keyboard to tap his response.

“Ya we’re actually having sex in here. TJ’s eating my ass like Tide Pods.” Alex smiled to himself, watching his message pop up with ‘delivered’ and John’s typing bubble swoop in. 

“Ur fucking kidding me, right. Ur horny, but ur not that horny… are you?”

“I AM that horny, but no, we’re not boning one out. We’re sitting here completely civil like the classy gentlemen we are.”   
Alex pressed send, and John responded.

“Somehow I doubt that.”

Alex snickered, causing Thomas to give him a sideways glance from beneath his shades, peering down on the screen of his phone. Hand still lazily on the steering wheel, Thomas pretended to be looking forward as he watched Alex type without any issue. His screen was more blue than usual, and the letters on the keypad seemed to be shimmering. 

“I mean. It’s basically like working with a short tempered, 6’5 giraffe that has a grudge on you for some reason. But he’s hot as fuck. So I’d gawk on that cock regardless.”   
“I literally have no idea what you just said lol I love you.”

He typed again, and Alex waited 

“We’re watching. Like, everyone. In the bureau; the HUB is insanely crowded rn, it looks like a Queen concert. For the love of God don’t do anything stupid or I’ll be the dickhead that recruited your dumb ass.”

“No promises. Gtg, Thomas is bending me over and I might drop my phone in the crack between the seats.”   
“You know those reasons that people don’t like you? This is one.”   
“Lmfao do I give a fuck”

“Hang when you’re back?”   
“Sure but unless you get written permission from the big man in the house, we can’t smash.”   
“Idc let’s just eat junk shit and play COD."

“I’m down”   
“K don’t die.”   
“I don’t think I’m physically able to die, but I appreciate it”   
“Don’t test the theory. Gl, Alex.”   
“Thx.”

Alexander rumbled a cough and clicked off his phone, screen going dark. He was completely unaware that Thomas had been watching him the whole time in fascination. Alexander lifted his butt off the seat to tuck his phone into his pocket, and caught a glimpse of Thomas’s sideways glance beneath his shades. Alex smirked, thinking that Thomas was eyeing him up or something. He could play along gladly. 

“Checking out tonight’s dinner?” he pocketed his device and shifted his ass back into the seat, getting comfortable enough to cross his ankles down on the floor. Thomas pursed his lips.    
“No.” he clipped, annoyed. But even he couldn’t avoid his curiosity. Alex chortled, looking away to scout out the scene, but Thomas squirmed a bit, cracking a knuckle on his steering wheel. The words were out of his mouth before he could approve of them. 

“So how does that work?” he coughed, rolling his shoulders back. Alexander’s hair spilled, a waterfall of supple honey over his shoulder as he turned his face back to Thomas. His face was blank. He blinked.    
“How does what work?”

“The the chip in your phone.” Thomas felt like there was something in his throat. Was there something in his throat? He cleared it again to be sure, “I didn’t know it was a thing.”    
“Oh.” Alexander’s voice was too high even for him, his salacious mood changing on a dime. His face fell. Was it hot in there?

“Yeah.” he rocked onto one cheek to pull his phone out again, motion a little awkward, " Let me just…” he mumbled to himself and trailed off as he got it out and swiped up, unlocking it and going to the Notes app.

“It’s really just a chip in the circuit that edits the way the text comes out; I don’t know. It’s personalized, and, well, it’s not an exact science.” Alex sniffed, passing it off to Thomas uncomfortably who took it even if he didn’t know what he was really looking at. Alexander leaned in, and Thomas’s heart skipped a beat, his breath catching, but Alex just pointed at the screen. For a scary moment there, he thought Alex was going in for a kiss while simultaneously not being a jerk. And something about that made him uneasy. 

“Whoah, chill, I’m not gonna bite you.” he laughed, and Thomas brought his hand down from the steering wheel to hold the device with both hands.   
“Damn right, you won't.” Thomas responded dryly, falling into their usual banter and finding himself a fraction more comfortable. This was easy; he could do this if he maintained his usual flirt-to-insult ratio. He exhaled, watching Alex’s tiny gloved finger hover over the light between them, hand resting on the center console. 

“Some letters are wavier or thicker, like so.” they were in Notes, and Alex typed in the “P” and an “A” to demonstrate. Thomas bobbed his head with a grunt of acknowledgement, genuinely curious but not willing to fully show it. 

“And…” Alex went on, rotating his head a bit to get a better look, “Some move, and some are more bluish than others, the light frequency that works best with me, and something happens in my brain when it’s all put together that lets me read it. But only with text the phone generates.” he looked back up to Thomas, and they met eyes through their sunglasses, “For example, if you send me a picture of your pitiful paycheck, I won’t be able to read anything on it except the numbers.” he kept a miraculously straight face throughout his passive-aggressive comment. Thomas was ready to roll his eyes.

“We get paid the same amount, smartass.” Thomas sighed in an exasperated monotone. Alex just wrinkled his nose in a condescending manner, but still playful. He shifted the lollipop stick from one corner of his mouth to the other with a clinking sound over his teeth.

“Tell yourself what makes you feel better, princess.” He smiled and attempted to take his phone back from Thomas, swiping across the center console to pocket away again, unbuckling his seatbelt with a loud “zip!”. The kid twirled the lollipop in his mouth, spreading the flavor across his tongue. 

“Anyway. The chip can only do so much for me. I have a full time job, so not like I can go back to school. Not that I ever want to.” he grumbled casually, “I hated that hellhole every minute I was in it. I’d gladly watch it burn to the ground and piss on the ashes.” 

Thomas was taken aback by the hostility. He gripped the steering wheel once more, unsure of how to respond to that. It was some serious intensity coming from Alex’s mouth, but Thomas could also hear the… regret. Why was Alex even opening up?

That was when the guilt washed over Thomas like an icy splash of ocean water, arctic and biting, just like it had the previous night. But this time, he saw things from a different angle. Never once had he given a second thought to the education Alex had gotten. It was hard to imagine he only made it through freshman year of high school the way he acts--the way he thinks. It was difficult to think that he’d never had a graduation. Never had a proper schooling once in his life, despite his astounding intelligence.

Thomas’s guilt would usually crash up on the shore and slowly seep away, but this, it consumed him. His fingers twitched on the wheel, licking his lips. He had an idea. 

“What if you could do school anywhere you wanted?” Thomas’s words rolled off his tongue without a thought, and immediately he bit it. Fuck that had sounded stupid as shit. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Alex laughed as if the comment wasn’t unusual, a relief. Thomas knew he was overreacting, reading into his own thoughts, but Alex was calm.

“I know what homeschooling is, dude.” he snorted, “Does it look to you like I have enough time or fucks to give?”

“That’s not what I said.” Thomas cracked another knuckle, heart rapping in his chest for some fucking reason, “I mean learning to… read. Again.” he searched for the right words as Alex slowly looked awkwardly out the windshield, both stiffly avoiding eye-contact. Thomas could feel the awkwardness rising with each word, suffocating him. But there was no turning back.    
“Learning to read again for your own sake, Alexander. Not for a diploma. I…” finally, his eyes flickered to Alexander, who still wasn’t looking at him. 

And for a moment, Thomas didn’t even see Eurmaeker in his lap. Didn’t see the assault rifle hanging beneath the dash or the million dollar suit. He just saw… Alex. The morning light glaring blindingly off his shirt and glowing on his young face. One that should be in school, in college somewhere. Should have stepped up on stage with two parents clapping as he shook hands with a headmaster and shuffled across in that dorky robe and ridiculous hat. He should’ve had that. And it was stolen from him by Thomas. 

“It can’t be easy. I’m sure it’s…” Thomas looked back out through the windshield at the shadows of the clouds passing rapidly overhead, “hard.”

“Again.” Alexander managed a short laugh, but it was stiff, defensive. He was shutting him out again, regretting opening up his walls, “I don’t need a pity parade for something you weren’t even supposed to know in the first place. So unless you have a pretty fucking good solution I think you should stop talking, Thomas.” 

Thomas was  _ definitely  _ taken aback this time, and his brows swooped down in offense, his knee-jerk reaction.

“Hey, whoah, what’s with the damn attitude--”

“What? Don’t like it?” Alexander’s voice wasn’t its usual, even, steady self; it was louder, bursting out of him. This time, he let his head fall to the side, finally looking at his partner, “You have two options, either make a pretty good fucking proposition right about now or shut the hell up.” he snapped, putting up an aggressive finger for each of two suggestions.

For what felt like a long time, the pause was drawn out, each second a mounting, exponential torture. The dominant part of Thomas, the controlling part that would smack him across his stupid, masochistic face for disrespecting him like that was completely gone, suspended. It wasn’t even a factor in the equation. 

Alex huffed a morbid laugh through his nose, bobbing his head once before looking away. 

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.” he mumbled, shaking his head slightly down at his lap. With a clack and a jerking movement, he clicked the magazine into Eurmaeker and let go the slide catch, cocking it into position with another  _ clack _ . Thomas’s fingers slowly… curled around the steering wheel, listening to the leather of his gloves creak against the hard surface. He’d made his decision. He wasn’t going to let Alex get away with this one. Alex had opened up and taken the fall, and now it was Thomas's turn--an eye for an eye. 

“Last night. When you were in your room.” he growled, and Alex pretended to not be listening as he intertwined his fingers with the curve and grip of his glock, placing his middle finger over the trigger as he always did. Thomas licked his lips, darting his tongue out over to wet them. 

“I made you flashcards. I did the research. That’s my solution.” he admitted, lifting his fingers and letting them fall back down, “And whether the fuck you want it or not or think I’m doing it for my own conscience, I don’t give two fucking shits, cause I’m going to put them to use--”

“Thomas.” Alex’s lips were parted, his ears perked, his head on full alert. His back was away from his seat and he sat erect, staring out the front window. Thomas scoffed at him.   
“Hey, wise-ass. Are you listening to a word I’m say--”

“Truck just arrived. White Volvo semi.” he listed, apparently not having heard a word Thomas had just said. The older licked his lips and swallowed, holding his tongue on the matter for now. Instead, his head jerked up to view the scene before them. 

Alex was right. A lumbering, older-looking semi truck swung slowly around the corner to the front of the warehouse, wheels hissing deafeningly. It rumbled, crunching on the stubbly ground as it made the difficult turn for such a wide vehicle, bumping along with rattling cargo. White was one word for it, but it was definitely more cream colored. Thomas stirred, these movements thoughtless and natural to him. 

“Allie, you confront. Give the signal to me or speak through the earpiece if you need backup…” he rumbled as he extracted his own glock from the holster at his hip, popping in the mag.    
“I know the drill.” Alex smiled to himself, face shaded beneath those sunglasses but still obviously thrilled. Any remnants and debris of the previous conversation had been swept away, and his mood had switched like a light switch. Now… he only looked hungry. He looked  _ starved _ . The kid actually bit his lip a round the lollipop stick. 

"But I also made a promise to you, driver-boy.” 

He kept grinning maliciously as he swiped his hat off the dash and tucked it firmly onto his head, hiding his identity. He got it settled comfortably there, golden hair flowing out of the back in a way that was too boyish not to be painfully sexy. Thomas put his gun between his thighs as Alexander rolled down the window and pulled the lolly from his mouth, giving it one last long lick with his perfect, pink tongue. Thomas’s blood pumped a little faster, watching the boy twist around the glistening head of the round candy before shrugging and flicking it out of the window with two fingers like a spoiled child. His lips were shiny with saliva that Thomas was a bit hungry for right about now... Even after such a jarring conversation that Thomas yearned to return to.

“A promise?” Thomas prompted, trying to tear his mind from what had just happened as easily as Alexander did. The smug expression on Alex’s face never faltered as he leaned forward for the door handle and pulled so that it clicked open. The sniper pushed it open with one brand new Balenciaga, glowing white in the sunlight, and twisted in his seat. Before placing his feet on the ground, Alex settled Eurmaeker up on his shoulder, finger on the trigger. He cast Thomas a glance over the same shoulder, showing his teeth. 

“That you would be center stage today, Agent Jefferson.” He swung his legs out of the car, leaving the door open behind him as he strode away, brisk and smooth. Thomas watched him go, wondering what the hell he had in mind. His suit flaps fluttered behind him in the windy day, lengthy locks buffeting the back of his neck, brushing away enough to show his tattoo.    
Alexander’s footsteps were amplified in the tree-less space, echoing off the walls of the warehouses, crunching on the dusty, damp blacktop. 

Like an archer drawing back his bowstring, Alexander’s heartbeat slowed, an innate reaction to the danger. To being watched. High above, he could hear the faint whir of the drone, but it was mostly drowned out by the rumble of the outdated semi before him. The putrid, warm odor of gasoline stung his nose as he approached the side of the vehicle, clearing his throat. Also clearing away the remnants of Thomas's words.

He was more than ready for this. He had waited so long… so long. This was his place. He hadn’t walked outside in what felt like a lifetime--the wind on his face… he wished he could take off the hat, the sunglasses, just feel and see it, but this was not the time. He was in the gladiator pit now, and the lions were a stone's throw away.

With his fingers curling tighter around his legendary firearm of choice, Alexander raised his voice over the grumble of the engine. 

“FBI.” he called clearly, the words second nature to him, “Step out of the vehicle  _ slowly _ with your hands on your head.” He parted his feet, ready for any reaction as he waited. For half a minute, it seemed like nobody was even in there. 

With a buzz, the window of the truck gradually rolled down, revealing a face in the passenger’s seat and some of the interior, a couple lanyards and beads dangling from the rearview mirror. It was round, a bit chubby but stubbled with an auburn beard, precisely what you would imagine the average trucker to look like. The man was wearing cheap sunglasses, and he stared deadpan down from where he sat. Alex could tell he was being regarded up and down, and kept his chin high in its natural place. There was a moment of hesitation. And then the man laughed an airy wheeze. 

There was a more distant, muffled bark from beside him, the driver. Alex sighed with exhaustion, used to this kind of reaction at this point. He could wait; he was patient. The two had their laugh, high pitched and genuinely amused at this pipsqueak. Finally, the other turned his face back to Alex, splotchy and red, belly still bouncing.

“Alright, alright.” he almost apologized, hanging his arm out of the side of the truck and casually drumming his fingertips once, “Let’s see some identification then, junior.” The passenger’s gruff voice rasped, still laughing a bit or trying not to. With a light smirk on his face, Alex reached into his lapel and pulled it open, revealing the glittering, golden seal that was specific to his organization. He pursed his lips in a little condescending expression, letting it fall back down against his chest with a bump when they had seen it. Alex slowly tilted his head just a centimeter to the right. 

“Again, gentlemen. Why don’t you step out of the vehicle for me, and we’ll have a little chat.” he spoke, and as he did so, the man’s pump face slowly fell, opening in what Alexander recognized to be panic. Alex’s heart beat faster in excitement. Good. This was the reaction he desired; panic led to stupid decisions. Stupid decisions led to capture. All he had to do was say one more word.

“Shall we?” he opened his hand invitingly, and the front of the truck bounced a bit when one of them moved. Instincts kicking in, Alexander ducked when he heard the click, and the man in the passenger seat jerked back a bit with a stunned look on his face at the gun messily slung across his chest by the driver. 

With a deafening “pang!” the unidentifiable driver shot at Alexander, not able to see much, and missed. The bullet zinged on the asphalt and sent rubble shards exploding from the place it landed two feet from him. 

Back in the Nightcrawler, Thomas stiffened, heart lurching in his chest. He pushed open the door of the car just an inch, muscles terse and ready to bolt out if Alexander beckoned to him twice. But he wanted out  _ now _ . The urge shocked him; never before had he felt something this powerful. For a moment, he saw nothing but red as soon as someone took a shot at Alex... A part of him screamed to wait for Alexander to signal--the kid knew what he was doing and when he needed help or not. But Thomas’s heart was shrieking at him to screw it all, swing out of the car already firing his weapon at the bastard who dared draw a gun on Alexander. 

Eyes darting rapidly over the scene, the driver stayed put, somehow remaining calm. He knew what to do. Alexander knew what to do. 

“Fuck.” the sniper spat, digging his feet into the blacktop and exploding with speed towards the side of the truck, leaping out of the way just as another gunshot cracked beside his ear immediately after the first. With a reverberating bang, he spun and slammed his back against the side of the truck, taking away any angle they had at finding him with their bullets. Panting, he whipped his head from side to side, hair flinging as he eyed the Nightcrawler, lurking like a black panther at the side of the warehouse. 

He had two logical options. Roll out and snipe both men where they sat, or shoot out the tires first. But he wasn’t going to go with either. Alex rarely broke a promise, and he wasn’t planning on starting now.    
He heard the gruff rumble of spitting curses and shouts within the truck, urgent and loud with aggravation as the wheels hissed, and the truck lurched forward. 

Alex almost tripped with a grunt, but he narrowly regained his footing and stepped an inch away from the truck, back wheels screeching and trying to find traction on the pavement as they spun. The sound of the semi was deafening as it tried to make its getaway, and Alexander grinned, giddy. Time for Thomas to be the ringleader. He placed a finger up to his earpiece activating it. 

“Come here, pretty-boy.” he called over the noise, and immediately heard the wail of the Nightcrawler split the afternoon, announcing her presence like Thomas had already had one foot hovering over the gas. Thomas’s voice sounded clear as glass in his ear.

“What the fuck are you doing, Hamilton?” He snarled, and Alex whirled around to see the car whipping around the corner as his suit flaps smacked his back and his tie fluttered in the wind. Thomas turned the wheel with lethal precision, back wheels drifting an inch, “You gave them a getaway.” he basically yelled, spittle flying as he regripped the wheel. 

“No.” Alex spoke, voice bouncing as he made a couple preparatory hops sideways, a sidestepping sashay, to get into position for the move he had practiced thousands of times with Thomas. The Nightcrawler got closer and closer, only slowing down a fraction in the lot. Alexander smirked. 

“I gave you a car chase.” he cocked his head for a second before lunging.

With one running step, Alexander swung himself into the low hypercar with a huff and tumbled into his seat, bouncing once as Thomas synchronized beautifully with him, flooring it as soon as Alex was in so that the momentum would slam the door shut, sealing them within the vehicle. With a shriek of wheels on pavement, spinning for a moment before jolting forward, they streaked through the lot in a cloud of white smoke. 

Alex was content in his position despite the nail-biting speed. He may be the world’s most famed sniper, but Thomas Jefferson was the greatest driver ever to be renowned. This man operated the machinery with a skill level so flawless and immaculate that it bordered on terrifying. The man himself was a machine. Escaping Alexander’s bullet was one thing. Paired with escaping Agent Jefferson’s car was impossible. The sniper and the driver were a death sentence. 

Now, they could speak in person, rattling within the roaring vehicle. Thomas lifted his fingers to tap the arm of his sunglasses, the car bouncing along on the uneven pavement. Alexander sat up straight in his seat and pulled on his seatbelt over his fluttering chest. The kid was panting but only with excitement, a smile on his face. 

The map lit up, green and glowing on the back of Thomas’s sunglasses, showing an above view in the top corner of the warehouse district, gridded streets, and one blinking blue dot travelling quickly up the parallel street on the left side of the red dot, themselves.

But Thomas had words for his mission-jeopardizing submissive. One hand on the wheel and the other on the 7-speed automatic gear lever between them, he swerved expertly between two buildings, veering onto a thin, one-way road with a loud bump and revving the engine again, pushing the speed.

“Are you out of your  _ mind _ ? You let them run!?” he snarled viciously.   
“As planned.” he sighed highly, clicking his glock into his holster at his hip, “No need to thank me, daddy, you can do that later.” 

Alexander gave him a beautiful smile as he unhooked his assault rifle with a click and reached down to his belt, pulling loose a mag to pop into the empty magazine well on his lap with the hell of his palm and a clapping sound.    
Thomas blinked in utter disbelief. Alex could control this mission like he was running it, like he had pre-planned the events. And it was  _ easy _ .

The driver shook his head, unable to believe this kid, “I am going to murder you when we’re back, you know that? You’re a dead slut, on God...” Thomas grumbled under his breath and swerved expertly around another car, someone leaning out the window and barking at his speed, but they just streaked past. Alexander laughed highly at the snide, dry comment, lifting up the large assault rifle and letting it sit heavily on his shoulder like a bazooka. He shrugged it there on top of his suit, getting comfortable with the feeling again. 

“Heard that.” Alex sang, pressing the bolt catch and causing the first round to load into the chamber with a sharp click, “What’re we seeing on the tracker?” he inquired, gun still up on his shoulder. Thomas answered seamlessly.    
“They’re coming up Sanderson; the only thing between us and them is a strip of warehouses and their prayers for mercy.”

The Nightcrawler’s engine whined and snarled as they pulled into a wide lot, same dusty, damp, cracked asphalt, same brown and beige, blocky buildings. Eyes darting around outside as they bounced, Alex had an idea.

“Do a reverse-entry drift to forward now while we have the space.”

Thomas’s head snapped to Alex for only a millisecond before focusing back on the road, gripping the wheel, “You can shoot backwards when we pull out in front of them.”

“I know I can, bitch.” Alex snarled, voice urgent as they were running out of time and space, “It's not about me. Let them see what _ you _ can do. On my word: reverse-entry…” Alexander drew out the end of his word and waited until they entered the lot, engine whining. The world around them streaked by in a blur, and he waited for the perfect moment, waiting… waiting... 

“Now!” he barked, and on his word, Thomas swerved the car to the left, keeping the wheels firmly stuck to the pavement, but then he whipped it in a round motion to the right, swinging it. With an ear-piercing streak and an explosion of rubber-friction smoke, the back wheels drifted. 

Fist still clutched epically on the wheel, he lifted off the gas, braked as the car skidded along the damp pavement, and pulled the lever into reverse, wheels spinning madly on the dampness before catching traction and slamming the pedal again, drifting perfectly into reverse. For a few moments, all anyone could see from the drone was a fog of white smoke, but the car emerged from the cloud with a roar, doing forty miles-per-hour backwards in an impossibly straight line. 

Alexander’s smile was too big and wicked for his own face, the true exhilaration  _ bursting  _ through his chest now, exploding: the thrill. God, Thomas whipping the car like that, regripping and spinning the steering wheel over and over again, was orgasm-inducing. What he wouldn’t give to pull over right now...

“I’m pulling out front in twenty seconds; the roads merge into a two-way. Rifle ready.” Thomas commanded, and Alex clapped the barrel of his gun down into his hand, settling it into his lap. 

Thomas’s eyes were flickering back and forth from mirror to mirror, adrenaline pumping rivers in his veins. He was in his zone now--the zone where his mind and Alexander’s were linked in flawless synchronization, basically reading one another’s thoughts with ease.

The Nightcrawler whined viciously; going backwards with such speed was an odd sensation, the world rushing over their shoulders. 

“Which wheels do you want, driver-boy?” Alexander inquired, leaning forward to tap on the screen in front of him that still was CarPlaying from his phone, Spotify pulled up. He tapped on Living Hell by Skan and let it play, volume still up high enough to shake the heavens with base. Thomas slowly pressed his foot down on the pedal, speeding up, the tension building, the acceleration pulling Alex forward a bit. 

“Front wheels. If you shoot out the back--”   
“They’ll flip over and go up in flames: evidence crispier than Anakin Skywalker. Got it.” Alexander finished Thomas’s sentence, pushing his sunglasses up on his face to settle comfortably on his nose. Now was the fun part. 

He glanced across at Thomas as he shifted closer to the window in his seat. The man looked so  _ fucking  _ hot at the wheel, his strong chest rising and falling against the white dress shirt. The sniper could see all the inches he was packing under his belt, curving out in a bulge, so easy to tell when he was sitting down. Alex shook his head and bit his lip, salivating. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Thomas noticed. His face darkened in a scowl. Just his luck that his favorite sex toy was this brat. 

“What do you think you’re looking at?” he growled, not facing Alexander. The kid shuffled his feet on the floor, aroused at this point and unsure of what to do with it. 

“What the fuck do you think I’m looking at? Your good personality?”    
Thomas shook his head with a clenched jaw, “You horny piece of shit.”   
“That’s my name.” he laughed, tossing his hair back. Thomas checked his map again, watching the blinking, pulsating blue dot travelling parallel to themselves slowly merge closer. 

“I don’t know if I can make it back to the apartment like this.” Alexander spoke over the music, rolling down his window to lean up against it, “It’s bad--really bad--not gonna lie.”   
“If you don’t  _ pull your act together _ , Allie, you won’t make it past the fucking garage.”

“Ooh.” Alexander checked his gun, drawling offhandedly with mild interest, “Someone’s feisty.”  
“I’m dead fucking serious.” Thomas’s dominant tone silenced him, “Shut up if you don’t want a throat ache to go along with a red ass. Because I will.” Thomas spat, sick and tired of Alex thinking he can just act like a salacious whore whenever the hell he felt like it, especially on a mission. He pointed at him sharply.

“It’s a goddamn  _ miracle _ I put up with your shit, but you’re  _ this fucking close  _ to my last nerve. So don’t test me, Alexander.” he demonstrated between his index and thumb exactly how close Alex was before hostilely bringing his hand back to the wheel, regripping with white knuckles.

The driver tapped something on his dash as the warehouses to their right fell away, showing the parallel road about to merge into their own. 

“Get your gun ready, and if I see you looking at me like a repulsive skank  _ one  _ more time you better drop to your knees and start praying to God.” 

“Right. Drop to my knees for God.” Alexander snorted sarcastically, rattling and wiggling his magazine to make sure it was securely locked in the mag well, “I quite think he and I have different priorities.”    
“You don’t say…” Thomas snarled under his breath, eyes darting rapidly back and forth from his mirrors to his map as he prepared.  Out the window, he could finally see the white truck gliding up the road a few car-lengths behind them, approaching to merge. 

“Gotcha…” Alex whispered when he caught sight of them, slowly placing his gun out the window. 

“Alexander.” Thomas spoke slowly, a hint of warning in his voice, “Wheels.” 

Alexander huffed a bored sigh, “Mhm.” he hummed, “Wheels. No heads.” he affirmed. 

“Pulling in front in three…” Thomas counted down, eyes on the road, blood and adrenaline roaring through his body like rivers of pure ecstasy, “Two…” As he counted down, Alexander leaned out the window to a barrage of wind, blowing the hat clean off his head, making him blink as his eyes watered. 

Deep in concentration, he hardly even noticed as it tumbled to the road and was swept along far behind them and under the wheel of the semi. The powerful air current caused his suit to flutter like stormy sails against his sides, his tie whipping back and forth like a kite’s tail. The wind in his hair was exhilarating, the speed was breathtaking, stealing it right from his chest.    
“One.” Thomas finished, and on his cue, they were directly in front of the truck. Alexander stared them down. 

He could see their faces through the wide front window of the semi, the items swinging from their rearview and a bobblehead rattling precariously on the dash. A disgusting billow of ashy smoke puffed from the exhaust, spewing an acrid odor. 

Alexander made eye contact with the man in the passenger’s seat and spread his lips into a white-toothed smile, gleaming and innocent as he carefully raised his assault rifle to settle against the edge of his pec on his shoulder, hiking the gun up to his face and pressing his cheek to it. All he could see was the widening of white eyes when he gave them a tiny, coy wave and pulled the trigger. 

With an exploding bang and a kick back of recoil crisply into his shoulder, their tire erupted with a hiss of air, a rubber chunk flinging off down the road. Without a moment’s hesitation, not wanting the truck to spin, Alexander adjusted the angle and took out the second tire with two bullets, just to feel the thrill of sending bullets into something, the fluency of a semi-automatic weapon.

“Tires out.”   
“Alex--!” Thomas barked a scream, and Alexander choked, wrenched back into the car a  _ millisecond  _ before another truck screamed by an inch from his face. It was going the opposite direction on the two-way in a bluster of wind and a deafening honk, fading off as it got further. Alexander could feel his hair literally brush the side of that truck before he bounced heavily back into his seat with a grunt, gun clattering down in his lap. 

Eyes wide, blood roaring, he whipped his head to Thomas. His lips parted in shock as the man let go of Alex’s suit collar, fabric clenched in a fist. For a moment it didn't comprehend; his mind completely malfunctioned. Thomas had just saved his life.    
He breathed in, lips searching aimlessly for words.

“Holy shit.” was all he could manage with a breathy exhale, tie still fluttering in the breeze. 

“Holy shit is right, fucker.” Thomas huffed, swiping his forearm over his forehead briefly before returning it to the wheel, “Christ, keep your head up; you’re giving me a goddamn heart attack.” he growled loudly, but his voice was cut off by the ear-splitting  _ shrieking _ . 

Still going backwards, looking at it head on, the white semi lost control, the flat tires scraping and screaming on the ground, throwing up masses of putrid smoke and black tire tracks. With what little control the truck had, they veered off and diverted into an almost completely empty parking lot, off the main road and back into the warehouse area. Perfect. 

There was nowhere to run.

“Let’s J-turn and whip this baby around; they’re gonna haul ass as soon as they stop.” Alexander listed quickly and released the magazine with a clatter to the ground and replaced it just to be sure he had full rounds for what was about to come next. His heart was still racing from the fact that he had almost been completely beheaded if Thomas hadn’t dragged him back into the car by the scruff of his neck within a fraction of a second. 

“Hold onto something.” Thomas warned as he swerved the wheel to the left, swinging the back of the car with a genuine  _ roar  _ of the engine, rubber burning and screeching on the road as the car pivoted at full speed, streaking in one epic maneuver from backwards to forwards, spinning around once on the wet pavement. The J-turn. Thomas’s signature move. As soon as they were in the clear, he turned back around, hand over hand on the wheel as they backtracked towards the lot, the engine caterwauling as they streaked down the road in a black blur.

“I’m blocking the lot entrance with the Nightcrawler once we’re in.” Thomas specified, voice raised over the noise as he lifted a hand to tap a screen on the dash with a couple of beeps. He pointed at Alex when he was done, “Get ready to confront, cause I’m coming with you.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time you’ve cummed with me….” Alexander trailed off, lips going numb. Thomas gave him one darting look before focusing on the road, raven hair flinging. 

“What?”   
“HoLEE shit.” he craned towards the window, lips apart with a faint smile. Truck smoking faintly, he saw the semi’s swing doors unlatch and bust open, slamming against the side of the truck. One by one, all shouting in the distance, people in black suits leapt from the cargo space. Alex’s eyes flickered over them, scanning. They all had assault rifles or handguns and pointed to Thomas’s car on the street. 

“Five people just jumped out of the fucking truck, man.” Alexander answered, looking across at Thomas as they swerved across both lanes, rapidly approaching the parking lot. 

“Shit.”   
“Mmm.” Alexander hummed, but his voice was just so… content. Pleasant. The kid smoothed his hair back on the nape of his neck, “Looks like we’ve got ourselves in a brush with the mafia, haven’t we?” he rocked to the side as Thomas’s car streaked into the lot, and the man jerked the wheel expertly to the right, skidding the car so that it was sideways, blocking the entrance, and slammed the brakes. 

After jerking forward a bit, both men sat back up, and Alexander smiled across at Thomas--all white teeth and sunglasses.   
“How nice of them to welcome me back.” he kicked his door open and cocked his head for a moment, still a little breathless, “I think it’d be rude if I didn’t say hello.”

“Shut it, Hamilton. You’re not going anywhere without my word.” he snarled and turned off the car, engine dying with a choke, and reached down quickly to his holster as he kept his eyes on the scene. Since his side of the car was facing the semi, he observed the men shout and break into a run towards the car, “There’s five of them.”

“Well.” Alexander shrugged, stepping one foot out of the car and giving Thomas a smirk over his shoulder, “Luckily I can take on five men at the same time, if you know what I mean.” he laughed with a sexy, naughty little wink at his partner, who screwed up his lips, jerking his gun out of his holster in a quick movement.

“I’m gonna do a fucking flip.” Alexander informed him like a giddy child. Thomas tried to unbuckle his seatbelt, but the motherfucker was stuck. Panicking, he looked down and jerked rapidly, jiggling it. 

He barked at Alexander, double-tasking, “Don’t you dare--” but as he whipped his head to where Alex was, all he saw was a disappearing snow-white Balenciaga. And a thump. 

“Dead. Fucking dead.” he spat the threat under his breath. Above his head on the roof of his car, two footsteps clunked heavily, and Thomas panted, still wrenching at the seatbelt as he turned his gaze up. The first man out of the semi got closer and closer, jogging up to the side of the car with a ringing shout. And Thomas was stuck. He was trapped. He grunted frantically, fingers fumbling. The gunman was almost upon him.

Before he could comprehend what was happening there was one last thud over his head, and he looked out his window, eyes wide in panic. That little bastard. 

Almost in slow motion… he saw Alexander’s body twisting through the air like a gymnast, doing a full front flip and arching over the man’s head. Thomas could see his FBI badge glint once in the sunlight, his watch face gleaming as the distracted gunman turned around, head following Alexander in baffled awe as he flew above him. Thomas was left speechless as Alexander landed the flip and rolled on the dusty, wet pavement in one movement.

He posted up on one knee as soon as he halted his momentum and ripped the trigger from crouched position. In that final moment, Thomas could see that golden flash of insanity in Alexander’s eyes… the hunger. 

Thomas flinched, breath hitching when the man directly in front of his widow's head snapped back and exploded a spray of crimson droplets splattering across the window. The bang rang in his ears, watching the gunman’s face slowly drag down the window with a thud when he crumpled to the ground, leaving a revolting trail of smeared blood down his window glass.

Thomas curled his lip with disgust and finally wrenched his seatbelt free, letting it zip away from his body and flung open the door, breaking free like a racehorse from the starting gate. 

As soon as he was out in the open, he heard gunshots whizzing by. Alex had stood and bolted, now facing off with two men that were upon him. The high winds whipped Thomas’s tie against his chest, buffeting his hair. Above him, a drone whirred almost inaudibly, carrying the eyes of the bureau. The eyes of John Adams. This was their moment. This was their time to work together. 

Thomas dug his feet in and dived into battle, two men racing to meet him. They yelled something in a foreign language to one another, feet slapping against the blacktop. 

“Thomas, duck!” Alex’s voice roared across the parking lot, and Thomas instinctively dropped down, trusting his partner. With two exploding  _ “Crack!” _ ’s, the gunshots echoing like clapping thunder, both men’s guns flung out of their hands and skidded across the gravelly pavement, leaving them weaponless. Alex had shot them clean out of their hands. Thomas exhaled, readying himself for a fight as he holstered his own gun with a click. 

“Come on!” he barked to the suited men, who were looking at him like he was going to snap their necks. They exchanged a glance.   
“Come on, or put your hands on your heads.” he roared aggressively, spit flying as he put up his trustworthy fists. Finally, they lunged at Thomas at the same time with ragged snarls, their own suit flaps fluttering. 

Thomas ducked a whistling punch over his head and followed up with his classic uppercut, listening to the sickening crunch of a breaking jaw, bone crackling. The man boomed, lumbering messily for another hit, but Thomas followed up with an elbow from the other side, boxing him right on the ear with a smack. 

Unfortunately, it wasn’t the one man he had to deal with. 

With an explosion of pain and a flash of white, Thomas saw sparks when the second man caught him with a right hook on the cheekbone, but he was never one to cower from pain. Head spinning a bit, he shook it and opened his eyes when he heard a high-pitched snarl of rage. 

Before him, the tall suited man stumbled forward, right into Thomas, bent in on himself and no longer a threat as he keeled over. The man gargled, cheeks vibrating with a shaky breath as he grappled at Thomas's shoulders. The driver lifted his head with wide eyes, looking around. 

Over the top of his head, Thomas saw Alexander lower his leg to the ground. He had just kneed the bastard right in the crotch. There was no time to waste. Thomas huffed, panting, and grappled at the man, spinning him around in his grip with a rustle of fabric and hooking his arms around the man’s armpits, facing him towards Alex and pressing him firmly against his own body. 

With a noise of effort, Alexander took two hopping steps forward, reeled back, and clocked the gunman out. His fist collided with the man’s bearded face with a ringing smack, snapping his head to the side with momentum.

Like he was waste, Thomas disposed of him on the floor, watching him crumple at his feet and flop, unconscious.

The taller agent sniffed, eyeing Alex up and down. The assault rifle was slung across his back, and there was a splash of blood just above his left hip bone.

“You alright?”   
“Asking the wrong person.” The kid laughed, smiling up at Thomas as the man strode by and gave him a pat on the shoulder. Thomas was making up for his desires with curtness. He wanted to take Alex aside and check him for wounds immediately. Instead, he paced away. Alex turned with him, watching him go.

“Call an ambulance, Hamilton. I’m getting the driver out of the cabin.” 

“No interrogating without me, driver-boy.” Alex called after him to no response. The kid pivoted on a heel with a little saunter, shrugging his assault rifle with satisfaction on his shoulder. Good fucking day so far. He trekked back over to where the Nightcrawler crouched at the entrance, both doors open like wings of a raven. 

As he approached the car, heels clicking on the slick pavement, he stopped before the car.

A body lay collapsed, back of his suit warming in the daylight. Alexander squinted against the dry wind, hair flipping around his head as he observed the lifeless figure in the morning silence. Once again, the power of being the deathbringer washed him with a deep sense of contentment, a peace of mind. Along with the serenity came humor. 

With a light smile and a softly cocked head, he lifted a foot, toeing at the body to flip its head upright. There was only a bloody mess where a face should be. A pool of the dark liquid collected under the body, and Alex grunted a huff of laugher, smiling down on it. 

“Ugly, aren’t you?” He spoke, snickering as he pushed the face back down to the pavement with his toe, “You’re welcome.” he laughed out loud this time, ending on a sigh as he leaned into the car and abandoned his kill, swiping his hand over the seat to find his phone and pull it towards himself. 

“Nine one one…” he mumbled as he dialed, placing the phone to his ear to explain the situation. 

Truthfully, he didn’t really care if the ambulance got here for any of them. What he was excited for was an interrogation, an investigation inside the cargo of that vehicle and inside the minds of the passengers. He hadn’t seen one of those since he was on the flip side of one in that God-forsaken confinement. 

One hand nonchalantly on his belt, he paced outside the car. This was quite the start to a successful day. 

* * *

January 8, 2065

“Well.” The doctor entered the room and closed the door behind him, giving Alex a tight yet genuine smile. He was a shorter, older man with dark skin and a face that told the story of many other appointments to get through today. He opened his blue-gloved hands and let them clap back down happily onto his clipboard, “You seem to be in perfect health, Mr. Hamilton.”   


“Glad to hear it.” The seventeen-year-old lifted his chin with a charming grin. He shuffled on the wax-paper on the exam table, crinkling beneath him as his legs dangled.    


“You’re underweight…” he sighed, facing the sink in the tiny room as he peeled off his gloves one by one with the snapping sound of latex, “but that’s to be expected considering your background and height. Keep it in check.” the doctor gave a nod more to John Laurens that Alex, who was standing leaned against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest.

This was the first time Alexander had seen him in a suit---had seen him as anything but a kid that lives in Harlem like him. In one day, John Laurens had gone from his only friend to his savior, his messiah. And now, he was his legal guardian until he turned eighteen. 

“The bureau keeps our employees in top shape, Dr. Williams. Old and new.” he dipped his head, glancing at Alex’s frosty blue eyes, “I wouldn’t worry about it.”   
“Excellent.” he rumbled a cough, eyes on his clipboard as he slowly turned around, recalling the details of this well-visit. Alexander was due to head to DC in five days and begin his first day of FBI training in six. Naturally, the checkup was in order, so Laurens had taken him in New York City.

“Young man, we will have your contacts made in two to three days and sent to your shipping address.” the doctor gave Alex a glance over his glasses, ready to be dry and brutally honest, “They may help your dyslexic condition. They may not. Only way to know is to find out.” he coughed again deep in his throat as he lifted the top sheet of the clipboard, peering down.

“Now, we have the scans of your irises if you’d like the contacts to reflect your true eye color.” he turned his face to John, leaning up against the sink table, “or if you have a color preference, we can provide that for you as well.”

John shrugged, checking his watch. It was five o’ clock and he was getting hungry, “I think he’ll be fine with blue--”   
“Hazel.” Alexander’s voice was beyond cool and collected. It was so controlled. Both heads turned slowly to him with a questioning look. It didn’t phase the teenager who sighed. 

“I’d like a brown-hazel color, if you please.” he looked at the doctor now, twitching a brow in a tiny movement nearly too small to see, “Unless that’s too hard?”   
“That can be arranged.” The man grumbled, clicking the top of his pen and scribbling down something on the third sheet, leafing through them. As he wrote, Alex ignored John’s questioning stare. The only sound in the cramped exam room was the pen. And the clock ticking on the wall. 

Finally, the doctor exhaled and tucked the pen under the clipboard again, lowering it.

“You gentlemen are free to go. Exit’s down the hall and to the left.”    
“Thank you.” Alexander grinned, receiving the same compressed-lip smile back as he pushed off the sink table and dipped his head as he pulled open the door and let it click shut behind him, leaving the pair in the room alone. 

For a few moments, John just looked at the kid, who was shrugging his winter coat back on. It was January in New York; it was  _ frigid _ . Alex didn’t seem to notice--or he was ignoring him--as he smiled softly to himself, zippering up to his neck. Finally, John opened his mouth to speak, lungs full of air but nothing to do with it.

“Hazel?” was the only word he could manage. His curly, brown, half-down-half-up hair shuffled over his back as he shook his head, in confusion. Alex hopped down off the table with a crinkle, landing his soles on the speckled tile floor.    
“Hazel.” he smiled. 

“That doesn’t really answer anything, dude.” he laughed a bit incredulously, “You don’t like the blue?” he inferred, “your eyes are rare as hell, why would you want to change them?”   
“It doesn’t matter. It’s done.” Alex sighed, pulling his cap down on his head. He always wore that same hat no matter where he was: Bald Island Bistro. He stepped over to John and clapped a hand down on his shoulder. 

“Now let’s get the hell outta here; the rubbing alcohol smell is weirding me out. You hungry?” he easily changed the subject, and John knew that they weren’t returning to it. Everything Alexander did was deliberate, and he had turned them off the topic for some good reason, though he hardly understood what. 

“I know there’s a Moe's around here that isn’t completely sketch.” Alex suggested.   
Numbly, John pushed off the wall, arms still crossed as he watched Alex go, unzipping his pockets before stepping out the exam room door. Alone in the tiny room, it was silent. He could hear through the walls the faint crying of babies and toddlers, smell the sharp bite of alcohol and bleached cleanliness.

The recruiter flicked a thumb over his brows briefly, unsure of what to think of this behavior.

It had been a year since he’d known Alexander. Since he had met him in that bathroom at Andersen High. Only now did he understand what the kid was capable of, but he could never figure him out no matter how much he knew. 

He was lost in his thoughts for a few seconds until he felt a low buzz in his pocket, and instinctively his hand went to it in a mindless movement. He fished out his phone and tilted it to his face to squint at the white icon before him on the screen. It was an alert from the Harlem Area Police Department; his brows swooped down, furrowing. Heart pounding inexplicably in his chest, he clicked on the article and swiped up, reading through the case and starting from the beginning. 

Two seconds of reading and his thumb went numb on the screen. Three and he couldn’t feel his lips. 

As he scrolled, his entire body just… stopped. Malfunctioned. His heart… couldn’t be beating.

John was a man that paid attention to detail. But he didn’t even remember stepping out into the hallways until he was there, leaning out the doorway to peer at Alexander’s back, his long bout of hair swishing across the padded jacket. 

“Alexander…” he managed through his paralyzed lips, and the boy turned around to face him. His smile faded from his face when he saw the… look on John’s. His friend looked down to his phone, mouth moving with soundless words before they caught on. 

“I get alerts from nearby police departments cause of my job… I just got…” he trailed off, running a hand over the top of his head to settle on his hairband, just to hold onto something. Alexander cocked his own, light blue eyes curious. 

“Jesus Christ…” he whispered under his breath, “Alex, do you remember Carlos Mendoza and his two friends?”   
Alexander snickered, a little glint in his eye that John couldn’t see, “I do.”

“They…” he scrolled, and when he saw the police images he quickly looked away, closing out the tab, “they were just found all dead in Mendoza’s apartment. Triple homicide.”   
Alexander raised both brows as if in mild curiosity. For a moment there was a silence as he regarded it. 

“Huh.” he huffed, stuffing his hands in his pockets, “What a shame.” he shrugged. 

“It’s terrible; they were all shot in the left eye. All of them. And their heads were soaked with water from the neck up.” John tucked his phone into his back pocket once more, still numb, heart still racing. He shook his head at the ground, slowly decelerating his heart rate as he came back down to earth.

“Shit. They were huge assholes, but what the fuck.” he squinted, “Never thought this would come to them.”   
Alexander shrugged with a considerate frown, giving the tiled ceilings a glance, “Eh. I always had a hunch.”

“What?” 

Alexander found his smile again, beautiful and innocent, braces glittering in the stark hospital lights, “There’s a very important saying I’ve learned through the years and that I use a lot,” he lifted his chin, “‘You get what you give’. Perhaps Mendoza should’ve given that one a thought coupla times in his life. Still. Pity, man. Real shame.” Alex shrugged again with a deep sigh, and made to turn around and walk towards their car. But then he stopped, pivoting back around towards John once more. 

“And, John, I think it’s best for everyone involved that we keep all this dyslexia and eye color thing between us. Don’t you think?” he wrinkled his nose with a nod, and John didn’t even speak. His mind was somewhere else right now. 

“And my scar. The tattoo. I think we should make that our little secret too, yeah? I just really don’t want to explain it a lot, you know. Since it’s so personal.” he asked casually, but there was a note behind his voice, an undertone… and it gave John chills. The kid smiled again, walking backwards a few steps with his hands deep in his pockets. 

“So. Moe's? I’m hungry as shit.” 

No matter what he did, the boy was beautiful; it was undeniable. The way he moved--sinuous, like a dancer--the way he spoke, the way his blue eyes glittered stunningly against his young face. He was dangerously beautiful. 

But all John could think about were those police photos. A gaping bullethole in each left eye, the bodies draped over the furniture where they sat. His mind flashed back to the memories of the first time he had met Alexander… he had had a blooming, black and purple eye. Under his... left.

Any slowing of his heart John had just done was now futile. He watched Alexander walk casually, looking like nothing but a very smart young man, a good friend to grab lunch with and bring your good news to. He was funny, immature more so than not. Enjoyable. 

Another memory darted before his eyes. Alexander’s wet hair clinging to his face and neck when Mendoza had forced him down to the sink, splashing water onto his face mercilessly for his own pleasure and entertainment.. 

John licked his lips because suddenly they were dry. Very dry. 

In that moment, his survival side made the decision. In that moment, he silenced any reckoning of the boy he had just recruited. He silenced any chance at turning around the moment that would send a ripple affect into all of time. 

“Sure. Hungry too.” he exhaled a bit shakily, stepping forward. 

The name “Carlos Mendoza” was never heard of again. Nor was it spoken. From that day forward, Alexander had never had blue eyes in his life. 

* * *

The parking lot was bustling with the usual hubbub of a mission aftermath. A few ambulances stood around, paramedics bringing in or taking care of the bodies where they lay. One dead, two wounded, and two simply knocked out, and Thomas stood talking with the head of the paramedics, being a know-it-all surgeon and the adult of the team. Meanwhile, Alexander leaned casually against the side of the semi truck facing the East, one heel propped up on the wheel and his face turned up towards the sunlight. 

The day was beginning to warm up, about seventy-five degrees, and the wind was winding down, just leaving a pleasant breeze ruffling and fluttering his hair against the blinding white side of the cargo trailer. Thomas had left him to watch over the driver and the passenger who were cuffed in the cabin, still sitting up in their seats. They hadn’t put up a fight, and they were silent. 

Alexander was glad for the opportunity to stand alone outside. He hadn’t been outside, standing on the solid ground in such a long time… he had forgotten how it smelled after it rained on warm pavement. He had forgotten the way the breeze makes one’s eyes water and the way the bottoms of leaves were paler than the waxy tops. He watched the trees across the street outside of the warehouse district, the soft hiss of the leave’s symphony. 

He breathed deeply, filling his lungs with the fresh air to their very capacity and watched Thomas’s lips move silently across the lot. Watched him point and speak to the doctors, hands on his belt. Over here, it was quiet, almost another world. His mind kept returning to the moment during the car chase, Thomas reaching across the dash, one hand on the wheel as he yanked Alex back into the car right before his death. Alex just started at him across the barren lot, taller than everyone and capped off with neat, black hair and sunglasses. 

After all this time, they still had each other’s lives. 

From beside him there was a deep sigh and exhale, a shuffle in the seat. Alexander blinked casually, turning his head a degree to look at the activity.    
“Yeah. Take a good look, kid.” A croaky voice spoke down to him, a hint of laughter and amusement in it’s tone. The boy fluttered his eyes behind his sunglasses, not allowing anything to show on his face.

“Pardon me?”   
“Pardon me.” The voice echoed with a chuckling laugh, a bit quieter. This time, ther speaker had attained Alexander’s curiosity. The boy squinted up into the window. There was only a side of a face in the driver’s seat, shaded by the roof and a hat low on the person’s head. He could see a smile beneath puffy lips, ones that had obviously been enhanced by some sort of surgery, and tight skin over the cheekbones. With a high sigh, the laugh finished off with a high sigh and a soft smile. 

“Don’t mind me, kid. Habits.” the voice apologized with the same deep, croaky tone. 

Alex blinked incredulously, “I’m sorry.” he held back an arrogant scoff, “Do I know you?”

The person shuffled in her seat again, obviously uncomfortable in cuffs as she turned her face to Alex. He observed her carefully, doing his customary scan with ease. She was in middle-age, around fifty years old with a faded black newsboy hat on her head full of feathered brown hair, obviously damaged through dying. She had a mole up by her left eye, almost in the corner of it, and looked as if she always had a pack of cigarettes on her. She peered down on Alex for the first time like she was the auntie at the Thanksgiving party that comes for five minutes and leaves for the rest of the year. 

“No, you wouldn’t remember me. But I remember you.”   
“Enlighten me.” Alexander responded smoothly, enthralled now. He cast a glance over to Thomas, who was helping to load a body into the open back of an ambulance. He had time. The lady chuckled again. Yep. Definitely a smoker. 

“I was a regular at _La Dimora_ back in '64.” she put her elbow up on the windowsill, casual as if they had just met in the street. Alexander’s heart lurched. He hadn’t heard that name in a long, long time… Without looking at her, he turned his face towards the sky again, remaining cool despite a hammering heart. 

“What do you know about _La Dimora_?”

“Know it was your place. And a helluva place to get booze.” At his shock, she specified with a deep, drawling sigh, “I’m good with faces, sugar. You’re not that easy to recognize, so don’t get yourself in a tizzy.” Nevertheless his heart beat in his chest to think about where she was speaking of. Harlem. To think this was one of the people he had associated with, and she was here. In front of him.

She gave him a sly smile, noticing his eyeing out of the corner of his eye.    
“So the rumors are true. He’s back.” she chuckled as if to mock him, like he was just a naive kid and she the adult, “You haven’t grown up a bit,  _ Signore Mietitore _ .” This time, Alexander froze. She chuckled to herself once again at his reaction, but stopped when he finally put both feet on the ground and turned around to face her. 

In fluent Italian, Alexander spoke. 

“Who are you?” 

It was the woman’s turn to be surprised. She frowned in consideration with a blink, turning her face fully to him, but not moving her body as if in merely mild interest. 

“I thought no questions until your friend over there takes me into custody, sugar.” 

“He can wait.” Alex responded. He hadn’t felt the wavelike rolling of the Italian language on his tongue in what felt like years. The boy crossed his arms, immediately coming up with a compromise. Something was pressing him to figure this out, desperate. He wanted to know what she knew of him. Who she was had almost no significance. 

“Deal. We don’t talk about whatever the hell you’re doing with this truck and what’s inside it. I want to know how you know me.” he specified clearly, punching his accents with precision. Over the brim of his sunglasses the boy raised a brow ,”Do we have an agreement?”

The middle-aged woman raised her own make-upped brow for a moment before sighing, “Sure, kid. Far as I can tell I’m headed to the old jailhouse with that tall dreamboat over there regardless.”   
Alex knew she was referring to Thomas. He compressed his lips, both of them still speaking Italian. 

“Why do you call me The Reaper?” he followed up with his first question, steering the conversation away from Thomas. As of this moment, the odd conversation was about the past. 

“Don’t worry, baby. We were on the same side of things.” She comforted, but her eyes showed mischief, “when you were doing little favors to make up for Daddy’s mistakes.” 

“Don’t speak of my father.”   
“Oh.” She laughed again, shaking her head with a slight smile, “so the tall glass of water doesn’t know?” she cast a glance across the parking lot that Alexander followed with his own, falling on whom she was addressing. Thomas. Alex watched him tapping something to his phone as he paced back to the Nightcrawler, obviously deep in something. The boy swallowed, looking back up into the truck window. The lady gave him a condescending smile with that same auntie feel to it. 

“Waited too long, hm?”   
“I think,” Alex clipped through a tense jaw, arms still crossed over his small chest, “that the associations my father had with your group stopped mattering as soon as I put a bullet through the bastard’s neck.”

She laughed, amused with his comment and enthusiasm, “Oh no. Your father was the scum of the mafia, we both agree on that. Lazy. Drunk.” she laughed as if Alex was naive, and it was irritating him more with every second. This lady looked like she knew how to be in power, giving off a Gladys Jones vibe to him that he did  _ not  _ like. 

“But your eye-candy driver doesn’t know about  _ your  _ associations with my group.” She blinked down on him, “Does he?”

Alexander’s eyes flashed gold. 

“I have no associations with your kind,  _ signora _ .” Alexander spat, and the lady blinked, taken aback by his sudden bitterness. Alexander took a step closer, tilting his face close to the high window. 

“I did favors for the likes of  _ you _ because my father left behind a trail of petty gambling debts and unpaid favors. A dimwitted rent-money-for-booze drunk.” he explained caustically, sounding professional and so much older than his age as he spoke fluently to this nuisance, “I never joined you swarm of gangster vermin for a second. I paid my father’s dues. I left. He got himself tangled in the mafia; I never gave in.” Alexander pointed to himself with a jerking motion. He cocked his head, reassuming power, “So he can rot in hell knowing I covered for his pathetic ass for my own sake. Not for him.” 

For a long time, himself and this stranger were quiet. She may have been pursing her lips, but they were so tight with botox that there wasn’t even a chance. She was just looking at him. The kid had spirit. Pride. 

Alexander knew that she had no real importance. She just happened to be a passerby from his past. And yet, she aggravated him for bringing up old history. The lady shrugged and leaned back in her seat, croaking again in her deep voice. 

“Would’ve done well to join.” She sighed a deep exhale and pushed her head against the headrest, lowering her hat over her head like she was going to take a lazy nap in the cabin of the truck, “You’re on the wrong side, kiddo.” 

“For you. Not for me.” Alex snorted, suddenly done with being treated like a child by such an irritating old plastic-surgery addict, “I’m done with this conversation. Go rot in jail.”   
“Oh, as you did, sugar?” she gave him another condescending smile that made Alex’s jaw clench. With a shake of his head, he made to walk away, turning from the truck back to the EMS trucks. How was this woman getting in his head with talk of his father, ancient history that hadn’t been dug up in years? The wind buffeted his golden hair as he left. 

She laughed again to herself, just a little chuckle as he walked away. 

“There’s rumors.” she spoke in English this time.

Alexander stopped slowly, not facing her as he took in a deep inhale, rolling his eyes up into his head for a moment. He should keep walking. He should ignore this woman’s insufferable banter because that’s exactly what it was. Banter. Nevertheless, there was this… tug pulling him to return. Trying to keep his cool that he usually had no issue doing, he turned around, already hating himself for the decision.    
“What. Rumors?” he clipped quietly, continuing in Italian. She gave him a tight smile again, the skin almost stretching over her cheekbones.

“Cat’s in the bag, darling.” her smile darkened pleasantly, “But there’s a storm coming your way, ‘Harlem Reaper’.” She spoke the name slowly with suggested air quotes as if to taunt him. He remained calm, but her words echoed in his head. A storm coming? 

“Or now should I call you,” She turned herself back to look out the windshield, only the outline of her puffy lip moving anymore, “Eight Shot?” She spoke the nickname in English. Finally, she closed her eyes resting, but her lips continued.    
“Keep up, little agent.” She mocked quietly with her deep voice, “Keep up…”

“Hamilton.” A terse, deep twang caused Alex’s head to whip to the side, snapping out of the strange conversation that had his heart beating. Thomas appeared from behind the truck, striding briskly towards him with his long legs and tucking his phone into his back pocket. He beckoned to Alex impatiently, expecting his full attention.    
“C’mon. The Director’s here.” 

Still in a bit of an odd place, Alex blinked placing his hands up on his belt. Being rushed so suddenly from the past to the present had his head spinning, disoriented. Speaking of his father and _La Dimora_ and then having Thomas walk around the side of the truck tied his tongue in a knot.

“What?” he sputtered. 

“He has something he’d like to say to us, so why don’t you step away from the semi,” he tilted his head, remaining polite in the presence of the driver and passenger, while letting Alex know that he was on the edge of beating his ass, “And come with me.” 

“Coming…” he gave the lady one last dark glance, disgusted, before he finally stepped away, leather soles smacking down on the wet parking-lot asphalt as he walked beside Thomas. He shook the odd feeling that was clinging to him, the inkling of something darker behind her words. He hadn’t even known her name. But she knew who he was, and that was the kicker. 

_ “You’re on the wrong side of things… There’s a storm coming your way… keep up, little agent. Keep up.”  _

Thomas gave him a dirty look after they’d taken a few strides, peering down on the kid almost a foot shorter than him. He curled his lip.

“What’s wrong with  _ you _ ?” he inquired rudely, and Alexander shook his head once again, trying to flick off the feeling like an irritating fly. 

“Nothing.” he answered simply, “That lady’s a fucking bitch. Too much hair dye soaked into her brain of something.” he scoffed, tucking his hands into his pockets as he strode quickly beside his partner, chin high once again, returning to reality, to the present. He looked up at Thomas, face still clad with green Ray-Bans sunglasses. The sunlight reflected off them and his attractive face to show how truly tan he was compared to Alex. A year of no sun didn’t fare well for his own skin. 

“Why’s Washington here?”   
“The Director is here with Lafayette and two other agents.” Thomas drawled laconically in response, returning his glance for only a moment, obviously trying to seem professional and indifferent about it. Alexander gaped, thankful for this distraction, and his open lips curled into a smirk at the corners.    
“Oho?” he strode in front of Thomas to walk backwards, facing him fully. Thomas immediately looked away and rolled his eyes with a silent sneer. 

“Lafayette? Ooh, Mr. Jefferson, you’re in big trouble.” Alex snickered, recovering for his next statement, “You want me to tell him to meet you out back so you two can tango?”   
Without any warning, Thomas moved at him in one brisk movement, turning him around jerkily and tersely by the back of the neck and making him walk forwards once more like a misbehaving child in the mall. 

In a businesslike manner, Thomas lowered his face down to whisper in Alex’s ear as if they were exchanging plans.    
“Don’t you dare get smart with me, Allie, just because we pulled this off and you think you’re the shit.”   
“I’m not--” Alex spat indignantly, trying very discreetly to squirm, but Thomas tightened his grip on the back of his neck and silenced him with a prick of fingernails. The driver drew closer with a sharp intake of breath. 

“Yes. You are.” he growled, “And I’m sick of it. So pull your shit together because I’ll kick your ass in front of everyone in this damn parking lot.” 

“Try me, bastard.” Alexander snarled harshly, but Thomas squeezed his neck as they walked, rounding the semi and approaching the scene before them. The EMS trucks were preparing to head out, and there were two identical, black Rolls Royce cars parked with open doors, one black sedan, and four people standing outside of them and talking animatedly. 

This time, Thomas’s lips touched Alex’s ear, pushing aside his long hair so that the boy could feel the heat of his words.    
“A  _ word _ to Lafayette, and you’ll feel me for days, bitch. So please, try me.” Thomas stood back up tall, rolling his shoulders back professionally as he let his hand slip down Alex’s back and off, releasing him, “Please do.” he spoke softly in his regular voice, adjusting his tie as they encountered the group, whose heads turned at the sound of the footsteps.

Of course, now Alex was turned on again. And now he was pouty. Thomas didn’t even have to try, which infuriated him in every way. 

“Gentlemen.” A deep, smooth voice rumbled in greeting. Washington was at the center of the group in front of one of the cars, flanked by Lafayette with his hair over his black-suited shoulder in a French braid, and two accompanying agents, both in suits and one wearing a hijab about her head. Alexander grumpily covered his sexual and Thomas-related frustration to straighten himself, immediately assuming superiority in the situation. 

“Your excellency.” Alex responded with a polite nod, ignoring the two other agents, who both pocketed phones away. In the gathered group, ties and hair fluttered in the wind, everyone squinting beneath their sunglasses. Thomas, meanwhile, scanned Lafayette up and down with an immediate sense of heating blood. The man looked like a statue under his shades, a poker-face carved from marble and inscrutable. 

No matter the sensation of his blood pressure rising... there was something odd about where the blood was headed... The man bit his tongue and forced himself not to swallow as he felt the dominant tingle tug, poking him at the most inconvenient of times. Lafayette didn't turn him on, no, but something was definitely happening now that he was standing him off. Standing him off... in the name of Alexander. Thomas pushed his suit flaps aside to slowly set his hands on his hips, wind buffeting a lock of hair at his ear. There was no point in denying it.   
  
The tension between the trainer and the two trainees was now a sexual tension. And it was all surrounding Alex. 

When everyone was in place, Washington spoke again, oblivious to the dynamic between the nearly twenty-five-year-olds. His stance was effortlessly regal like a sovereign king, assuming unquestionable authority above his subjects. 

“Agents Hamilton, Jefferson,” he addressed, “I’m straight from our Heads of Departments assembly vote.” 

“And?” Alex inquired lightly as if the result had no effect on him. Obnoxious brat, Thomas thought to himself, feeling Lafayette’s eyes on him, and he didn’t so much as flicker a glance to him. Not yet. He needed to distract himself before he said or did anything rash. 

“And,” Washington filled in, “It was a landslide. Congratulations, gentlemen.” he dipped his head an inch in genuine praise and approval, “You have yourselves a mission starting tomorrow.”   
Alexander’s smile was content beside Thomas, having always known the answer to his own question. 

“Excellent. Glad to hear it.” The boy crossed his arms, lifting his chin to mirror Washington’s stance. He cast a glance to Thomas, who was still circling Lafayette with his eyes like a crouching wolf. The Frenchman seemed just as impassive and serious as Thomas was--a standoff. Immediately, Alexander felt a little rush of excitement at seeing his partner and their mentor come face-to-face after Thomas’s little threat over the phone. This was going to be fun, but for now, his mind was on the mission they had just completed. He’d let Thomas and Lafayette size each other up for a little while longer, buy them some time. 

Alex turned his young face back to Washington.

“And Adams?” Alex queried, “How has he taken the fall?”    
“Admirably.” Washington responded calmly, “He’s an experienced Head and a respectable man, Alexander. He accepts the committee’s decision on the matter.”   
“My ass.” Alexander snorted to himself, and both Washington and Thomas stiffened at his behavior. 

Alexander's disrespect caused something to click in Thomas's mind. And body. 

Standing beside his brat-- _his_ brat--with Lafayette about ready to confront him, Thomas was fully ready to finally chat with the Frenchman. Finally, he admitted to himself that Alexander was right; it would happen sooner or later, and now it was time he did something about it. He'd waited long enough. Now he truly understood his possessiveness and hypocritical aggression towards his superior and senior. It was because Alexander belonged to _him_. Like hell if anyone wanted to challenge how well he could take care of that kid. 

“Excuse me?” Washington furrowed his brows, but Alexander lifted four fingers from his crossed arms to pacify him.   
“Of course. He’s respectable.” he appeased the Director and went on, “What did the bureau think of our show?”

Washington ground his jaw, narrowly accepting Alexander’s conduct with a terse glance to Thomas before answering, “By the reaction I could hear and see from my office, I’d be amazed if less than fifty people made highlight reels.”    
“Ah. So the people are pleased. You are pleased. Everyone’s happy. Hallelujah, amen.” Alexander looked around the circle as he spoke, smiling up at Lafayette who only pursed his lips in a weak attempt. Clearly, he was stiff with something else on his mind. Alex finally landed his gaze on the two other people in suits, giving them one obvious look up and down.

“And who the hell are you?” he asked, and he parted his lips with surprise when Thomas slipped a hidden hand to rest on the small of Alexander’s back. There was no pressure, nothing but the gentle hand resting over the thick fabric of his sun-warmed suit, and Alex was too smart not to know that Thomas was giving him a warning--a feeling of his presence and power to back the fuck down. Now. 

The people opened their mouths to respond, but Lafayette did so himself, speaking for the first time in his rolling, throaty French accent.   
“Agent al-Tariq and Agent Powell.” he spoke, looking to Alexander. Thomas’s eyes were still trained on him and his every move, the way his braid swept over his shoulder, the blonde glinting glossily in the sun. 

“They will be taking over the interrogation and investigation segment.”   
“ _ What?”  _ Alexander immediately responded, and Thomas turned his head with the same expression on his face, but silent. Alex reached up to strip off his sunglasses, squinting under the light and his own scowl.

“Why?”   
“His excellency and I have agreed that you have done enough good work for the day. You need to focus on your mission; an interrogation is useless when the vote has already been a success in your favor.” Lafaytte explained, dipping his head and slowly crossing his arms as he spoke. Alex placed his sunglasses on top of his head, still looking from Washington to Thomas to Lafayette like someone was going to say this was a big joke. Alex had wanted to sit in on an interrogation today. Before he could object, Lafayette spoke again. 

“There was also a matter I wished to discuss with Agent Jefferson that I’d rather not hold off.” 

Alexander held his breath. Wow. So this was it. Lafayette’s jaw flexed for only a fraction of a second, flashing in his temple before he gazed across the group at Washington and the other agents. Yep. The tension was... _definitely_... sexual now. An unprecedented sexual tension between three men.

“If Agent Hamilton could receive transportation back to headquarters with you, your excellency, I’d like to speak with my agent inside the warehouse--”   
“Hamilton stays.” Thomas’s voice, deeper than anyone in the circle dictated. Heads turned to him, standing tall next to Alexander without even looking at him. Lafayette pursed his lips, but Thomas went on. 

“Anything you need to say to myself can be said in front of my partner, sir.” he clipped, “We can stay here and discuss the matter.” Washington tilted his face towards Lafayette for a response, the wind blowing a couple of blonde, almost clear flyaways about his cheeks. Finally, the man talked. 

“Very well.” were his only words, and Washington nodded.    
“Don’t stay out here for more than an hour.” The Director commanded, “Hamilton, I want you back at HQ by eleven, or your risk being seen. Do you understand?”    
“Yes, your excellency.” 

“Jefferson, Hamilton. Good work today.” he nodded his farewells and turned his shoulder, ducking into the passenger seat of his Rolls Royce and clicking the door shut behind him. The engine rumbled to a start, and they rolled forward with a crunch of gravelly pavement and a wave to his driver. 

Watching the black exterior glint in the sunlight, Alex hadn’t even heard Lafayette pivot on one leather heel and begin with long strides towards the warehouse. Thomas still stood beside Alexander with his hand on his back, the other two agents splitting off in the opposite direction, out of sight as they rounded the semi. In silence both agents watched their boss pace off towards the warehouse, probably--no, _definitely_ \--expecting them to follow suit. Alexander looked up to Thomas with parted lips as the man's hand tightened on his back. 

"Alexander, answer quickly and concisely with a 'yes' or 'no': have you or have you not been properly dominated before me?"   
The question was unexpected, and puzzled Alexander. Nevertheless, he cast a single glance over his own shoulder at the wide hand on his back, and knew that there was only one sane choice at the moment. 

"No." he responded in the manner that Thomas had requested. The taller watched Lafayette watching with intense scrutiny, the blonde tossed a look over his own shoulder, braid snaking across his back. Thomas rumbled a cough.   
"I don't see how that's relevant, driver-boy--"

"And have you or have you not taken a Dom and a more...'alpha' Dom at the same time?"

Alexander's heart took a massive, unexpected leap in his chest. Immediately, a thread of heat was dropped down into his lower belly. Oh. Now he understood why it was relevant. 

Thomas's eyes were locked on Lafayette, who he saw as a challenge, not a superior now. Not in this setting. Thomas had several ways he could prove that Alexander was his to protect, but one solution stuck out to him more than the others. One solution seemed to be the one all three of them had unspokenly agreed upon. 

With a mission to depart on in a day's time, Thomas knew he had to get this out of the way now while he still could, resolved and done with so that he and Alexander could continue their dynamic without any intervention. And so that Thomas and Lafayette could continue to be civil with one another once more. 

Thomas gave Alex a look, noticing the boy's smirk. 

"Just answer the question, Alexander. Nothing's set in stone." he requested, and the kid laughed, reaching up to briefly scratch a brow.

"Shit, Thomas. No. I haven't." Alex lifted his sunglasses off his forehead to collapse the arms and tuck them in his suit jacket. He looked up at his taller partner, "Can I ask why you're asking or is this hypothetical bullshit?"

"Depends." Thomas answered simply, still staring down the back of Lafayette's head. It all depended on how the Frenchman reacted. This could go down two different ways, both agents slowly understood. With Thomas and Lafayette heading off, fist-to-fist to settle their scores. Or it could end up back in Thomas's bedroom where all things seemed to wind up in the end. But this time and this time only, it would be three men instead of the two. 

Nevertheless, Thomas hadn't expected it to come to this. He'd hoped it would have just resolved on its own, but clearly there needed to be some other sort of assistance and means by which to reconcile and simultaneously tell Lafayette to back off. A one-time meeting would do the trick like magic. But there was something else this little quarrel between the older agent and the trainer had proven to Thomas. 

The man squinted, peering down on Alex, and suddenly a wave of genuine emotion as well as sexual dominance crashed over him. This was a combination he denied to admit, but _knew_ he had never felt before in his life. The dominance he felt of Alex was more than sexual. It surpassed it. His conflict with Lafayette had proved that. He wouldn't say it out loud, but he knew there was something he had to say, and say it _now_.

"And, Alexander," he called upon his partner's eye contact, the boy still watching Lafayette before he tilted his mischievous head up, hazel eyes glinting in the sunlight as flyaways blew around his face.  
"Hm?" Alex inquired, letting Thomas go on. 

"If you agree, I think we need to go in and edit The Hamilton Files."  
Alexander smirked with a tiny look, not expecting that but certainly not displeased, "How so?" he prompted. Thomas bobbed his head slightly, already content with what he was going to say to his superior. 

"After whatever shit might happen today has happened, I don't want you sleeping with other men." he shook his head glancing down on the shorter, "You can veto. You have the right." Thomas shrugged, still squinting as he took his first step towards the warehouse.

"But I don't want to see it happen. That's my word on it." he sniffed, and kept walking.

There was undeniably some reason beyond anything purely carnal that he had asked for it. He knew that Alexander had full power to keep the anti-exclusivity rule they had included in their little contract agreement. But Thomas wanted it gone after today. After he had proven it to Lafayette. He wanted it gone.

He wanted Alexander to himself. 

Whether he would fully admit it or not, it was the truth. 


	19. Beg for Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LONG smut plus feels! Next chapter is coming later tonight or tomorrow with the REAL feels, so stay tuned! 
> 
> Much love to all of you, as always, and thank you so much for sticking with me and giving your support! I love you <3 😊

As the sniper climbed the cracked, concrete steps up to the side entrance of the warehouse, he had the odd sensation of trekking headlong into battle. Especially after the shit that Thomas had just said to him out of the blue, rattling him to say the least. The iron door had clanged shut ten seconds ago when Thomas had walked in, and he had no clue what was going on inside there now. 

His hand ghosted over the thin railing as his soles slapped the concrete that he came to understand were just stacked up cinder blocks, weed growing all around the base and in the cracks and crannies between them. 

With a grimace, he pulled his hand back from the railing after realizing how coarse and rusted it was, wiping it down his pant leg as he pushed in the door that Thomas and Lafayette had left unlocked for him. As soon as he stepped inside, the cavernous space around him blocked out all outside sound, filling his ears with the low hum of air conditioning and neat rows of rectangular LED lights that he was familiar with. 

Looking around, he scanned the place. It was almost painfully basic in nature and appearance: brown walls, construction-yellow scaffolding with rows and rows of boxes laden and organized on them. It smelled of dry cardboard, steel machinery and packing peanuts. Everyone must be on break somewhere because the forklifts were parked at the end of the aisles and turned off. Which also meant the three were alone in the warehouse as well. 

Alex’s hazel eyes finally fell upon the men he was looking for. The stupid,  _ stupid  _ men who were surely nearly coming to blows over God knows what. Pride? Alex rolled his eyes as he stepped inside, but what he saw wasn’t nearly what he was expecting. Perhaps it was what he should’ve been expecting. 

Lafayette had his back up against the end of one of the aisles, not leaning into it and subordinating his position, but his hands were set over his belt as they so often were, and his sunglasses were still on as compared to Thomas, whose were settled up on top of his glossy, dark hair. The Virginian’s stance was supposedly calm. His arms were folded over his chest and his feet were at shoulder width apart, just standing casually. As the door slammed closed behind him with an echoing boom, neither of them even flinched. 

Alexander wondered if he should step forward or not, assessing the situation carefully. He could see Lafayette breathing deeply beneath his white shirt, see the fabric on Thomas’s back expanding and receding. They had obviously exchanged a few words before Alex's arrival that had led to a silence. 

The Frenchman’s chiseled, fair-skinned face was stone-cold. He meant  _ business  _ today. He was…  _ clearly  _ done fucking around with Thomas, his inferior. Glasses still covering the man’s pale-blue eyes, he spoke.   
“Would you like to tell me why you think you’re here or must I say it myself?” he tapped his pointed finger on his belt, looking only at Thomas as he pursed his lips. He lifted his shoulders, “I thought it would be obvious enough, Toma.” 

“Don’t patronize me, Gilbert.” Thomas compressed his lips just the same, finally shaking his head, “Don’t do it.” his final words were more quiet, so cold that Alex felt a shiver run up his spine. Lafayette wasn't the only one being forward. 

“Fine.” The older man lifted his fingers at his hips for a moment, still obviously not happy, “Then would you like to explain to me your words from the phone call this morning?”    
For a long moment, the two just stared each other down in the lightly buzzing silence. Finally, Thomas swallowed in a stubborn movement and opened his mouth.    
“Don’t really remember.”   
“Don’t really remember.” Lafayette repeated, quieter. Thomas stood taller and pulled his shoulders back an inch. He reminded himself that he had no obligation to be forgiving--to be lenient--with this man. As of the moment, he wasn’t his boss, he was his equal. These were strictly personal matters, so Thomas had every right to speak his mind. This thought brought him great pleasure. 

“How about you tell me, Gil.” his voice was so firm, it was  _ dripping  _ dominance over his opponent, “Since you seem to recall.” He stated tersely. Both of the men ignored Alex just inside the door, the suited boy’s eyes darting back and forth between his partner and his trainer with intense observation. With a rumble, Lafayette cleared his throat, obviously not happy that Thomas was making him do this. 

“Something similar to: ‘I’ll take care of Alexander. So you can stop sniffing around my things or we can chat man to man whenever the fuck you want’. And then something insulting my fluency.” he recited with a monotone, and Thomas didn’t even flinch to Alexander’s amazement. The Frenchman lifted his hands from his hips, letting his suit flaps fall back down over them. He looked around, up at the ceiling and walls of the buzzing warehouse.    
“So here we are like you want. We’ll ‘chat’. Man to man.” he brought his eyes back to Thomas, “You asked, no?” 

“I did.” Thomas confirmed with a momentary cock of his head, rapping his fingers over his crossed arm with a quick series of taps. Alexander swallowed when Lafayette finally flicked his sunglasses off his face and peered over at him over Thomas’s shoulder, making eye contact. In the moment of communication between them, Lafayette could see the chaos-lust in Alex’s eyes. He could blatantly see the… other sort of lust just as well. In an instant, the driver followed suit, casting a glance backwards briefly over his shoulder before returning to Lafayette. Darkness descended across his face. 

His lip twitched. 

“And what the hell do you think you’re looking at?” Thomas’s voice was low and quiet but  _ dangerously  _ so. The note of possessiveness in his tone was easily detectable from a mile away. The Frenchman shook his head in irritated astonishment, lips parted as he opened his lapel and tucked his sunglasses in there. 

“Is this about what I saw in the bathroom? Is this what this is about?” he inquired with his thick accent, voice raised over Thomas’s in volume as he let go of the fabric in an aggressive jerk. The taller man blinked his dark eyes calmly. He didn’t mind if the man ignored his first question. Better to get the discussion up and running. 

“This is about you, Gilbert.” Thomas clipped, “Your disrespect towards him.” Thomas didn’t even have to flick his head for Lafayette to know of whom he was speaking. 

The Frenchman actually smiled incredulously. He barked a laugh, the braid slipping smoothly over his shoulder to rest at his pec. When he was finished--Thomas watching him like a stone-cold statue the whole time--his lip curled into an angry leer. 

“You speak of disrespect.” he bobbed his head, still leering, “As far as I can tell, Toma, you have no right to say I am ‘dirty’ or ‘disrespectful’ to your not-boyfriend who you made kneel on the  _ dégoûtant  _ floor like a dog.” he sneered his verdict that he had been  _ waiting  _ to say for days. 

Finally, it was out in the open. 

Across the room, Alexander--who had been slowly approaching step-by-slow-step--halted. Any other boy’s face would burn red in humiliation; his heart would stop at those risky words towards a man so dangerous. But Alexander… the corners of his lips twitched into a smirk in the silence ensuing. It was Thomas’s move now. 

As if in mild understanding, Thomas nodded his head, staring point-blank into Lafayette’s eyes from three inches above him. Hands still crossed over his chest and tucked in the elbows of his suit fabric, he took one slow stride forward, closer to lafayette. The tension in the cavernous room was thickening, tangible. He stopped a foot away from him, towering like a dark menace. 

“I have every right.” Thomas whispered in French, just loud enough so that Lafayette could hear him loud and clear. The Frenchman shook his head slowly, blue eyes trained on Thomas. 

“No. You have no right. You act like an immature child. You are a hypocrite, Toma.” he responded in English just so that Alex could hear it. He tossed his head to the teenager, who was carefully approaching the group soundlessly.    
“Xander deserves a man. Not a shameful, degrading brute.” he selected the words he wanted to use, and Thomas nearly  _ lunged _ . However, at the last moment a noise to his left distracted him, cut off his intentions.

Alexander leaned leisurely against the next row of scaffolding and puffed out a yawn, sighing at the end. The boy crossed his ankles as he slowly clapped, the smack ringing and echoing in the space. Both heads turned, still not cracking the tension between them, however.    
Alexander smirked.    
“Bravo. For this lovely display of twelfth century chivalry.” he swung his head into a cocked position, smug, “I’m flattered.” 

Thomas nearly vibrated with fury as he shook his head, jaw clenched. He could feel the body heat from Lafayette, and it was propelling him to keep going, turning on each and every dominant switch in his entire fucking body.    
“Alexander, you had _ better _ keep your mouth shut.” he growled in a warning manner that left absolutely no room for disobedience.

“Oh, by all means.” The kid held up his hands in innocence, still giving off that charming, charismatic smile, but certainly not a submissive one. He didn’t so easily let himself be subordinated. He flashed a glance to Lafayette, choosing his words carefully. Thomas wasn’t in a gaming mood.

“I just think, Thomas, there’s a bit of a misunderstanding surrounding how Lafs here thinks boys should be treated versus how  _ I…  _ should be treated.” he led his hands fall down to check out his nails and pick something at his thumb. 

“Food for thought.” he finished on a cunning note, giving his contribution to move the conversation along and leaving it there for the men to contemplate. Once again, Alexander was the ringleader in disguise. The ventriloquist. Two of Lafayette’s pale knuckles cracked as he squeezed then extended his fingers, just needing to move  _ something _ .

“What does he mean?” he dryly, calmly commanded an answer more than asked, which made a hypersensitive Thomas even more on edge. Annoyed, he flicked one more glance to Alexander, darting his tongue over his lips as he slid his hands down from his chest to his belt, holding them low on his hips. 

“He means that your idea of correct treatment,  _ Gilbert _ , doesn’t apply to his circumstance.” 

Alexander leaned deeper against his resting place. The pole pressed against his spine, but he didn’t care. He was here for the show. Thomas was so fucking irrisistible to him when he was like this--all worked up over him. He felt the same weird emotion he had felt when they were writing their little sex contract--the arousal surrounding the pure professional, unsexualized representation of what was essentially sex. It was so cold. So openly conversed about. And it was getting him hot right there, fully clothed in his suit in a musty warehouse.

Still confused, Lafayette blinked incredulously, trying to follow, “And what _ does _ ‘apply’, Toma?” each word was snapped separately, terse and uptight. As if he already knew... And suddenly, in the instant the Frenchman had asked the question, Thomas was in charge again. Thomas was leading the conversation wherever he wanted it to go. And between the three of them, they all knew where they wanted it to go. The tallest slowly lifted his chin. 

“A strong,” he cast a glance beneath his dark brows at Alexander, “disciplinary hand.”

Lafayette blinked at a random point on the floor with a scowl of confusion upon his blonde brow, deep in thought as his lips silently mouthed the words, feeling them on his tongue. He didn’t understand what Thomas meant until he lifted his gaze and caught sight of Thomas and Alexander looking at one another, eyes locked into a dance of fighting mischief and dominance. His azure eyes darted back and forth between them, taking in the salacious smugness in Alex’s entire demeanor, and the cold, disciplinary, almost asexual energy radiating from Thomas like heat. 

He parted his lips and slowly… slowly understood. 

Oh. Wow.

“Ah.” he managed shortly, causing Thomas’s cold eyes to turn collectedly back to Lafayette’s, black and emotionless. The Frenchman ground his molars for a moment, thinking about it, but his head was still high. They weren’t done here. Not even close. 

He turned his head back to Alexander with a bit of an interested glint in his eye, intrigued, “So you are a  _ masochiste _ .” he commented gruffly. Thomas still stared at him darkly before he rumbled his response.    
“I didn’t say you could talk to him.” Thomas drawled, and Lafayette stopped. The driver slowly crossed his arms over his chest once again, cool and in control, “So don’t, Gilbert.” 

The Frenchman turned his head slowly… gradually back to look at the man in front of him. Lafayette would pull his superiority card, but the thing stopping him was that this matter wasn’t work-related. It was strictly personal. So technically… Thomas was the alpha dominant here, and it hit him like a ton of bricks. He couldn’t pull the “absolutely no-bullshit boss” card. It wasn’t part of his hand anymore. 

He shifted his weight, inhaling. And for a rare moment, he strayed away from his no-childish-drama policy. After all of this--all of the drama he'd gotten on Thomas's end--it was inevitable that he indulged in some childish behavior too. He had the right. It was his turn. 

“My apologies.” his apology was so ingenuine, it made Alexander’s ears perk, his back stiffen against the cold pole when he sensed something stirring. The Frenchman lifted his chin, “I just did not remember that detail when I bedded him.”    
Alexander’s mouth fell open. 

He watched Thomas’s arms fall down from their crossed position. The fury in his ebony eyes. And before he could comprehend what he was seeing, he knew he heard two  _ “smack” _ s of heavy shoe soles on the smooth floor before a booming, reverberating BANG! 

Only when he stood up straight from his leaned position and blinked did he understand that Thomas had just taken a running start and  _ slammed  _ his boss into the rack of boxes. 

With a chaotic blend of thumps and smacks, cardboard boxes came showering, raining down from the scaffolding. It was a miracle none knocked either of the men out as they snarled and clawed like cats in a fight, some boxes still teetering precariously on their shelves and some tumbling to a stop as the shitstorm died down. The noise did not. Sharp, panting growls were still audible loud and clear in the space. Thomas pinned the older man up against the shelves, pressing his back painfully into it as he clenched up the suit fabric at his shoulders into unyielding fists of iron. 

His teeth were gritted, hissing through breaths of rage. Lafayette’s face was close to the taller man’s, the tendons in his neck popping as he panted, the tops of Thomas’s shoulders gripped within his own balled fists. 

Alex, meanwhile, stood in awe as he watched his partner and his boss breathing onto each other’s faces, glaring  _ right  _ into one another’s eyes, challenging. They clenched and re-clenched the fabric, getting the better grip. He was about to intervene, blood roaring, but he stopped himself when he understood that it wouldn't’ help to speed things along. Speed things towards where they were all inevitably headed. Instead, he just tucked his hair behind his ear, putting away his sunglasses to observe despite his hammering heart.

This wasn’t the way in which Thomas would fight with his submissive for power. If it were Alexander, he’d have a hand around his throat or two. He’d have his hips shoving against his, a knee up against his hardness to mock him for his naughty arousal. No. This was a dominant teaching another one a lesson--surely a rare sight. Alexander’s jaw couldn’t seem to raise back up to normal position. But he could manage a heinous smile. 

“When?” Thomas spat right at Lafayette, jerking him an inch in his grip. The older man shook his head gravely. 

“You don’t want to do this, Toma. You’re a fool.” he parted his feet, “I am not one you want to fight.” he reasoned coolly, knowing full well that it was his job to train agents how to fight. It was his occupation to fight, and there was a reason he would never fight with his own agents. He would never lose. 

“I asked  _ when you fucked Alexander Hamilton,  _ you pathetic  _ fuck _ .” Thomas cut him off with a booming roar, jerking him back into the rack, twisting the suit shoulders in his hands. Roughly, he spat the next words into Lafayette’s face.    
“He was seventeen years old, you  _ sick _ piece of  _ shit.”  _

Lafayette curled his lip and let loose a snarl. An actual… genuinely primitive, animalistic snarl. 

The driver blinked in surprise.

Whoah. That was when Thomas understood he was dealing with someone equal in power to himself. The Frenchman cocked his head aggressively. 

“I believe that  _ over  _ a year and a half  _ above  _ the  _ legal  _ age of consent is not sick,  _ enfoiré _ . And you are one to talk, my friend.” he roared, proving his logic that was completely accurate, “You cannot accuse me with the way you looked at Randolph--” 

Thomas slammed Lafayette harder with a strangled cry of fury, twisting the fabric again so hard he heard some of the seams pop and split in his white-knuckled fists. The scaffolding banged metallically behind them, tethering precariously. 

“Thomas.” Alexander’s voice was firm and strict, but the driver flicked his head like he had a fly in his ear.    
“Sit down, Alexander.” he warned darkly, not casting him a single glance as he gripped Lafayette. 

“ _ Thomas,  _ I swear to--” he snapped strongly this time, raising his voice, but he was immediately drowned out.   
“And I swear to God, if you don’t shut the hell up, we’re not going anywhere until you do.” as he barked the words, he slowly swung his face Alex’s way, spittle spraying from his mouth in lividness. He watched him for obedience as Alexander stood, looking older than his age in everything besides his face. 

His white shirt was still bloodstained with a crimson splash, his feet still parted like he was in charge of this dynamic. The sheer amount of  _ red  _ that Thomas was seeing was unprecedented. Something about having another man in his hands that had been with Alexander even for one night infuriated him. To even think of seventeen-year-old Alex in bed with his boss made him want to tie the kid down for being a shameless slut and simultaneously punch this blonde fucker right in his mouth. Instead of backing down, the kid piped up louder, firmer. 

“Alright, dumbass, if you want to prove you’re not a spontaneous, uncontrollable douchebag with no self-restraint, you need to calm down. I get that you’re pissed.” seeing that his words only frustrated Thomas further, he shook his head, looked away for a moment before taking a different approach. 

“Hey. Look at me.” Alexander’s voice was firm, but it was calm.

Thomas kept his eyes locked on Alexander, wanting to look away, but at Alexander’s words, he couldn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to turn away. Alex folded his hands in front of him, never lowering his head for a second.    
“You are in charge. Thomas.” he kept talking with a straight face, “So let him go, and ask what we came in here to ask. Don’t get sidetracked into the past. We solve this now. Got it?” 

… And Thomas couldn’t look away. On seeing that young face, his soft hazel eyes and curvy brows, his tie knotted neatly at his neck… he felt the red seep away. 

What… in the name of hell?

Somehow, Thomas held back from breaking Lafayette’s jaw as he scanned up and down the face of his opposer so close to his own. 

Reluctantly, he understood that he had to calm himself down. Now. His gut told him as much, and Alexander did too. They were never going to get anywhere if he decided to play with fire, mess with his own trainer who was as skilled a fighter as Thomas and Alexander combined. The Frenchman was right: Thomas would be a fool to fight with him. 

Lafayette shook his head, braid slipping over his back when Thomas slowly… slowly loosened his grip, the Virginian counting up to ten and back down in his head. Immediately and innately sensing Thomas’s changing mood, Alexander stepped forward, only a couple of feet away from them now. 

“So gentlemen.” he exhaled cautiously, “Let’s all just relax.” he glanced at Thomas, who wouldn’t glance at him again, still freaked out a bit by how just looking at Alex had affected him, “And settle this.” 

“Ask what you came here to ask?” Lafayette responded, but this time his voice held a note of respect for the man in front of him. Obviously… Thomas was willing to go to some high measures just to keep Alexander to himself. A ringing pain in his back proved that much. He’d seen possessive partners before, but this… this was something new to him. And he’d be a lying fool if he didn’t say it was turning him on just a bit--the thin line between competition in the ring and sexual competition with Thomas was gradually beginning to blur the longer the three of them were in the same room.

He made sure to keep his chin high as he shuffled his weight, moving a bit to let Thomas know that they could step apart. With a rumbling cough, the driver cast a glance to Alex then to Lafayette, only stepping back an inch as his blood pressure returned to normal. The taller man adjusted his tie, tightening it neatly up against his throat as he spoke, and this time his voice was completely under control. He'd returned to normal.

“Alexander, I want you to go wait in the car.”   
“What?” Alex scoffed, smile racing from his face. Thomas brushed himself off and adjusted his suit cuffs in a jerking motion. His voice was his usual, cool drawl, deep and resounding as he turned his face to his partner. 

“I’m going to ask him, and we’ll talk about it in here. If he wants to, we’ll go over it in the car with your input. Now go.” he explained.    
“If I want to what?” Lafayette looked from Thomas to Alexander in befuddlement, and Alex understood that if he argued with Thomas, he’d only make things more confusing. Annoyed, the youngest stuffed his hands in his pockets, impatient. 

“This isn’t fair.”   
“Life isn’t fair, sweetheart. Sit in the car.” Thomas blinked coolly. Alexander rolled his head back and bounced a tiny bit on the balls of his feet, obviously not accustomed to holding his tongue in any situation. He never had that kind of authority in all his life. Now, it was physically difficult to do so. Thomas raised his eyebrows as the final warning, and Alexander had to give in. Didn't mean he didn't want to flip off that Virginian fucker. 

“Please don’t take twenty minutes, or I’ll just jerk off on your upholstery.” he huffed, turning away. 

“ _ Excusez-moi, quoi? _ ” Lafayette understood what he’d just said and furrowed down his brows.

Thomas sighed, used to this kind of indecent behavior and ready to explain it to Lafayette. He’d need to know that much. 

“Don’t worry, Lafs, I won’t make you help.” 

“I think the fuck not, young man.” Thomas called after him, “You’re not putting a hand near yourself; do you hear me, you little shit?” 

Alexander only flipped him off over his shoulder as he swung the door open, the creak echoing in the domed space as a rectangle of early afternoon light fell across the smooth floor. Then it banged shut on its own. In the ringing silence, both of the remaining men watched the place where Alexander had just stood, breathing steadily in anticipation. Thomas ground his jaw in contemplation, thoughts streaking through his head of how exactly to do this. He rolled his shoulders back, straightening himself as he slowly turned back to the man he had almost just come to blows with. 

Lafayette was eyeing him skeptically, but his stance was open, trusting. Thomas’s fingers twitched at his sides, lifting up to push back his suit and tap his fingers over his belt.    
“And hence,” he spoke in French, “The disciplining hand.” 

This time, Lafayette huffed a laugh out of his nose without a smirk on his face, still looking at Thomas like a professor awaiting an explanation. The taller sniffed, hoping Lafayette would respond, but it seemed that he would have to lead the conversation. 

  
“Look, Gilbert.” he began, voice now seeming quiet in the open, rubber-smelling space, “it’s obvious that our little quarrel is getting in the way. Of virtually everything.” he shrugged indifferently, “What you saw in the bathroom changes a lot, I’m sure. And my reaction was puerile, I confess. Then and now...” he drawled and gestured between them and at the scaffolding behind them, “But I had my reasons.” his dark eyes flicked up to his trainer’s, hinting that his possessiveness of Alexander was the reason. Lafayette nodded, showing him that he understood. 

Thomas rapped his fingers over his leather belt with a series of quiet taps, shifting his weight once and tilting his chin up to look down on the man before him.    
“I don’t like you. But I respect you, which says a lot more, about you than it does me, Gilbert.” he shrugged, still maintaining dominance and maturity as Lafayette raised his blue eyes to Thomas’s. The driver shook his head. 

“Whatever the case, I  _ do _ know that I don’t want to fight you.”    
“Likewise. I believe I have made that obvious, Toma.” he reminded Thomas that he’d never asked to be slammed up against a fucking loaded scaffolding. 

“You have.” Thomas blinked deeply in place of a dipped head, “And we’re both smart enough to know that a fight between you and I gone public would put the final strain on this damn mission we’ve been fighting to go on. That’s the last shit I need right now. So I apologize for… this. Really, man.” he found the best words he could. 

“Your point?” Lafayette inquired firmly, once again snapping right back into his usual “zero-bullshit, zero-dawdling” coach-attitude. Thomas closed his eyes and raised his fingers in understanding. 

“I assume you want it short and concise.”

The Frenchman straightened his jacket on his shoulders and ran his hands down the front, smoothing it casually while he talked with Thomas. 

“As I always do. Toma.” he dictated tersely. Thomas was… just a  _ smidge  _ irritated at the attitude.

“Well. In that case, I’ll make it blunt, Gil.” Thomas rumbled, trying not to be condescending. He parted his feet on the floor with a swish of fabric, crossing his arms up over his chest before he found the right way to say it. It seemed there was no right or wrong way to ask. 

“I want all the past shit resolved. I want dominance over Alex, and you want to fuck him. I can’t have that last part.”   
Lafayette opened his mouth to protest, but Thomas calmly raised a hand to cut him off, “Don’t deny it.” his tone was so final, that Lafayette closed his mouth, still bating back words, but Thomas continued. 

“Luckily, I can think of a way to put all of it to rest at the same time. So,” he dipped his head, speaking all in one breath as he gestured with a hand at Lafayette like they were making a business deal, “If you would be so inclined as to relieve the tension between the three of us…  _ all _ … of the tension,” he lowered his head just an inch as he spoke very… very slowly in French, “I would actually be willing to allow you to…” he raised his brows, watching Lafayette squint as he slowly figured it out, “join us in a reconciliation.”

Lafayette sighed, “The location of said reconciliation?” he prompted slowly, shaking his head a bit at the riddle. Thomas’s black eyes showed nothing as he spoke his next words.    
“I’m sure you can make an educated guess.” he whispered. 

For a few long moments, the two just scanned one another’s eyes, a clashing of darkness and arctic, aqua blue. They could see each other’s chests rising and falling behind their white, button-up shirts as they breathed--feel the tense heat. Of course, Lafayette knew what he was talking about. The only way for Thomas to retain dominance and let Lafayette fuck him at the same time was obvious. Still, it puzzled him to no end. 

At last, Lafayette broke it. The man shook his head and stepped forward up to Thomas. He pursed his lips in a smile.    
“Toma, you are a confusing man.” he laughed a bit, clapping a hand down on the taller’s shoulder in a friendly, brotherly manner. Thomas huffed, still on edge around this man just a tad.    
“Okay.”

“In many ways, yes,” Lafayette admitted, bobbing his head side to side, “but this is the one that astounds me:” he licked his lips once, lifting a finger to explain, “Alexander is the boy you despise deepest in your heart.” Thomas wanted to roll his eyes because here came Lafayette’s emotional personality--so expressive. It was borderline tooth-rotting intolerable, “and yet you protect him with more than your life. You will not share him, though you want him gone. And now you share him with me.” he shook his head, still intrigued, “why?” 

Thomas cleared his throat, never breaking eye contact with his challenger, “Alexander won’t be seeing any other men after this. This is his last hurrah to be a slut.” 

“Do not think I am a fool, Toma.” he shook his head, “So don’t try it with me.” his trainer side spoke.   
Thomas’s brows furrowed down in offense, “Excuse me?” He scoffed, but Lafayette had a smile on his face. 

“You want to prove to the boy that you take care of him no matter what man tries to join you.” he explained, and something flickered behind Thomas’s eyes at the truth. That was… shockingly accurate. Lafayette tossed his braid over his shoulder, “you want to prove to him that you are worth the exclusivity.” 

“I’m going to need a yes or a no, Gilbert.” Thomas prematurely curtailed the discussion that was digging a little too far, and shrugged Lafayette’s hand off his shoulder. The patronizing, fatherly vibe that his superior was giving off did not sit well with him; he got enough of it from James. He direly desired to take a step back, but he managed to stay put. Lafayette was a trained FBI agent, and he knew when somebody was hiding something. And this man before him was certainly avoiding that conversation. 

The older man slowly recoiled his hand, tucking four fingers in his pocket. He shifted his weight and inhaled, agreeing to go along with Thomas’s path for now. 

“I will not do anything until I know Xander has consented.”   
Thomas cleared his throat, happy to be getting off the track they were on--discussing the complicated emotions surrounding his circumstance. Lafayette had no right to make assumptions about it--no right to put in his opinion and say something so bold like that out loud to Thomas. The fact that he had even assumed he could talk of personal matters with Thomas like that offended him. The taller tossed a glance over his shoulder at where Alex had left. 

“I can’t accept his consent before we have all agreed on rules.”   
“Rules?”    
Thomas nodded maturely, “There have to be rules. For what we’re doing. But I need a yes from you before we draft them for Alex to take a look at. Or else we’re not doing this, man.” He asserted with a firm shake of his head, knowing how to do these things at this point, “No rules, no game. It’s up to you.” 

For a moment, Lafayette seemed like he was considering it. 

“I am a top too, Toma.” he spoke in a terse tone, asserting that detail loud and clear as if it were the most important thing he could express. Thomas only huffed a short laugh, an amused smirk already on his face. 

“I’m aware.” If the man had fucked Alexander two years ago, of course he was a top, “Is that a yes?” he tapped his nails on his belt again, rapping against the hard leather. He didn’t have to wait one second before he received his response.   


* * *

Wind flipping around his hair, Thomas tucked his sunglasses back onto his nose, squinting beneath the lenses at the eye-watering breeze. The day was brighter now, blinding and windy as he trekked once again across the parking lot back to where the Nightcrawler crouched, rumbling and vibrating slightly with her engine turned on. His heels clicked on the crunchy pavement as he tucked his phone back into his pocket with the shutter sound of the off-button, screen going black. He’d just sent the text to Alexander laying down all of the ground rules. For what they were about to do. 

Alex must have seen him strolling up from over at the warehouse, because the black widow of the Nightcrawler rolled down with a mechanical sound as he approached, breeze buffeting his face and lashing his tie like a cracking whip. 

Alexander put his elbow up on the window ledge, dipping his head a bit to place his sunglasses atop his blonde-brown crown. When he looked back up, Thomas was upon him, and the driver could see that he had popped another lollipop in his mouth, sucking on it in the corner of his lips. 

“Hey.” he greeted, letting his hand fall out against the side of the car. He drummed his thumb and forefinger against the outside of the door. Thomas stopped with a rolling crunch, and Alexander squinted into the sun, craning up at him to view his eyes.    
“You’re out in one piece. How’d it go?”

“Well.” Thomas responded, placing both hands on top of his car, sun-warmed and smooth. He sighed in satisfaction as he leaned down and stretched his abs a bit, face in front of the window, “Some of us are actually mature. Imagine that.”

“You almost got your ass handed to you, Jefferson. No thanks to your own bad judgement.” Alexander smiled, shaking his head to himself as he sucked off the lolly with a pop, “You’re welcome for saving your pretty ass, dude.” 

“Alright, you wanna cut the attitude and hear the verdict, or you wanna pump up your ego some more?” Thomas pursed his lips and bobbed his head in a fatherly manner. He shrugged and frowned, lifting his fingers off the roof for a moment, “I’m fine with both.”

“Alright, alright. Easy, big guy.” There was a clatter of teeth against hard-candy as Alexander placed the stick back in his mouth, moving it around into a comfortable position. The wind blew his hair out of his face as he turned it to Thomas again, still squinting against the blinding light--sun in his eyes. 

“Give me the run-down.”    
Thomas brushed his forehead against his arm momentarily, beginning, “Here’s how it’s going to go.” he drawled coolly, tossing a glance across at the Rolls Royce that still remained parked in the empty, barren lot, “He said yes.”

“Fuck yeah.” Alexander whispered, face splitting into a dirty grin.

“He’s clear in terms of STD’s and STI’s, so.” Thomas waved a hand once, “Not a thing we need to worry about.” he went on, not needing to dwell in that area since the man had shown him medical record proof of the fact.

“Gilbert and I drafted up some rules in Notes. We’re going to get in his car as a group and go over them for you to edit or approve--you know how it goes. With me so far?”   
“Hell yeah, I’m with ya.” Alexander drummed his fingers again, shifting down in his seat. Thomas nodded. 

“I’ll get my driver to come pick up the Crawler and bring her back to the garage. He’ll bring lunch for us from Panera as well for after, cause I know you’re hungry.”

“You know me too well.”   
“Mhm.” Thomas checked his watch, “So we’ll head to HQ. Gilbert needs to go get dressed into another suit and send some emails. It’s his day off, so it’s light, but he’s a Department Head so.”   
Thomas shrugged maturely, “When he’s done, we’ll meet back up at my place.”

“Our place.”   
“My place,” Thomas continued seamlessly like Alexander hadn’t even spoken, “And there…” he cleared his throat, sniffing and casting a glance over to the Rolls Royce across the lot, “we make amends.”

“Make amends.” Alexander echoed with a tiny snicker, looking down at the floor for a fraction of a second before returning to Thomas, “That’s one way to say ‘have a steamy, double-Dom three-way with a murderer, a sadistic weirdo, and their boss’, eh?”

For a few moments, he just looked up at the man, who seemed to not have heard him. The youngest leaned his head back against the headrest, keeping it cocked in Thomas’s direction as he just observed his face. He could tell that Thomas was thinking about something… but he had no idea what it was. Slowly, he shook his head in a moment of pure and inexplicable comfort.    
“You’re weird, Thomas.” he spoke out of the blue--softly, though. 

The taller blinked, snapping out of it and comprehending what Alex had just said to him, “I have videos of your crackhead-ass on MyScript that say otherwise. And I’m not the wackjob that sleeps in socks.” 

“Not like that kind of weird, you fruit-fucker-- also, easy to say when your circulation doesn’t stop at your ankles, so shut up.” he scoffed. 

Thomas chuckled to himself, stifling a genuine smile beneath his stretched up arm, pretending to wipe his face. But Alex just kept looking at him before he talked again. Thomas looked impossibly gorgeous in the beating-down sunlight, his strong cheekbones and black brows, the hinting at where beard stubble would grow. He’d look fucking sexy with a classic, clean-edged stubble-beard. But for the moment, Alexander didn’t see him just in sex. The man was so clean-cut, yet he puzzled him. 

Alexander flicked his brows down for a moment, “It’s like one second I can read your mind inside and out. We run a mission like clockwork.” he shook his head in amazement, “The next second I can’t figure out why you’re letting me take French cock in the ass.” 

Thomas looked up at the wispy-clouded sky and inhaled, “Here I was thinking you were going to say something meaningful.” Thomas scoffed lightly, but Alex’s brows furrowed down. 

“I’m serious, Thomas.” and at his tone, Thomas’s smile faded. Oh. He was being serious. 

The kid lifted his fingers casually to explain, “Don’t get me wrong. I’m horny as hell, and I’m hard just thinking about double dicks in my mouth.” Thomas raised a dark eyebrow, and Alexander stopped fantasizing immediately, swallowing and getting back on track. 

“But… I’m talking about before. Were you...like being serious, or was it the testosterone talking?” He queried. Thomas blinked, parting his lips. 

“Huh?”   
Alexander flicked a thumb over his brow, “Yep. Testosterone was talking.”

“Can you just ask me the question?” Thomas shook his head with a tiny exhale, getting impatient with the meandering, and Alex tucked a stray bit of hair out of his face, turning back to face the windshield instead of Thomas.

“You, uh…” he coughed, fiddling with his watchband, “You want me to stay with you?” he mumbled, and a sudden gust of wind fluttered Thomas’s suit flaps against the car with a smack, drowning out Alexander’s voice. Thomas leaned closer, head basically in the window. 

“What was that?” he raised his voice a notch over the blustering wind. Alex shuffled his feet on the floor mat, not wanting to have to say it again. He squirmed for another moment, seatbelt suddenly feeling tight as he prepared himself once more. Something was driving him to do this… maybe it was that moment that Thomas had saved his life ingrained in the front of his head. 

“You want me to be exclusive? Is that what you meant? Earlier...” he finally turned his face towards Thomas, wondering how in the hell it was so hard to do that. Usually, eye-contact was his strong suit. It established his superiority, but now he didn’t feel so in charge anymore. He felt like he was drifting….

Thomas shifted his weight, hands still on top of the car, suit hanging at his sides. He clearly wasn’t expecting that. Well, he was expecting that Alexander was thinking about it, not that the kid would ever say it. Thomas pursed his lips, inhaling until his lungs were full before he nervously laughed the answer.

“Yeah. That is what I meant.” he patted his hands down on the car with an apologetic shrug, looking off to the side at nothing again, “Don’t know what to tell you.”    
“It’s not a big--”   
“You can veto. You know that, alright?” Thomas nodded with each phrase, firm and strong, as he emphasized, “We can forget I asked any of that shit. I don’t want you to think I actually care if you fuck around. Because I don’t.” 

but Alexander lifted his chin, shaking his head. 

“Just shut up.”

Thomas paused. 

“Excuse me?” but Alexander broke out into a smile, almost like he was about to laugh. Now Thomas was hopelessly lost. His dark brows knitted down, annoyed now that Alexander was vibrating with laughter. 

“ _ What? _ ” Thomas snarled rudely, and Alex just sighed highly, lifting his hand just an inch to grab onto Thomas’s hanging tie and run it through his fingers, stroking it lightly as if bored. 

“I said you can shut your mouth.” he reiterated raising his pretty, hazel eyes up to stare at the back of Thomas’s glinting sunglasses. He kept stroking the tie absently, as one might pet the tail of a sleeping cat, “Or don’t. You’re actually kind of cute when you’re jealous.” 

It was almost comical how Thomas’s face fell agape in shock at Alexander’s boldness. Almost. Because Thomas was dead-fucking-serious when he spoke.    
“You need to take a  _ huge fucking  _ step back and check yourself, Alexander.” Thomas brought a hand down to point at his face, voice almost wavering with warning, “because  _ whoah  _ you are about to get yourself slapped into next week if you call me ‘cute’ or ‘jealous’ one more time.” he air quoted with his free hand to show his disapproval, but to his agitation, Alexander just chortled at him again. 

“You’re cute. And you’re jealous.” Thomas opened his mouth, but Alexander cut him off, still crazily calm, “Hush, man. I agree.” 

Thomas almost sputtered, placing his hand slowly back up on top of his car, not sure he’d heard Alex correctly. 

“You what?”   
_ “I agree. _ Jesus, Thomas, you’re old, but you’re not hearing-aid-old.” Alex snorted, turning back to the windshield and shuffling down in the seat. Thomas’s tie was handed back off to the wind to do with as Alexander retracted his hand, twirling his lollipop in his mouth. Still in disbelief Thomas shook his head. 

“It’s windy out here, bitch--a little hard to hear your mumbling.” he called, furrowing his brows down, “Let me make this clear: you’re agreeing to give up  _ all other _ sexual partners.” he scoffed in amazement, “That doesn’t sound very…” he searched for the right word and completely blanked, “ _ You _ .” 

“Well I am. For you. Yeah.” Alexander spoke obviously. One second later when he looked up at Thomas’s face he understood how that had sounded. He chewed on the lollipop, “I mean, it’s a no-brainer on my end. Give up ten vanilla dudes for one ten-inch horse-cock.”    
“I don’t have a horse--”   
“You get my drift.” Alexander shrugged, popping the candy out of his mouth and observing it. 

For a few moments, they both were silent. The only sound was the whisper of the wind in the trees across the highway, the occasional car whizzing by with a rush of noise. The teenager swallowed and looked at the floor. Then Alexander mumbled again. 

“I’d give that up for anyone willing to save me from death-by-decapitation or show up their boss for me. Though I doubt anyone else would, so,” he shrugged, placing it back on his tongue and closing his mouth around it, “Thanks.”

Thomas was rushed by a potent splash of warmth in his chest accompanied by an odd tingling feeling that  _ spread _ like summer rainwater down to his legs and arms. That rush was something more than adrenaline. It almost knocked him off his feet. He swallowed, just trying to recover enough to say something. 

“Thanks for agreeing.” was all he could manage, doing his absolute best not to let anything show in his voice. Alexander leaned forward and grasped for the door handle, pulling it towards him with a low click. 

“Again,” he huffed as he used his leg muscles to push the door open, “no-brainer.” he smiled up at his tall partner as he ducked out from the car, Thomas taking one step back to allow him the space. But he hadn’t gauged it very well, because when Alexander brushed off the front of his expensive suit and straightened himself, he was shockingly close to Thomas. He tilted his head back and up to be able to see Thomas’s face, and realized that the man was carefully pushing his sunglasses up onto his forehead, eyes trained down on him. 

The wind whipped both of them, sending their suits fluttering, their hair brushing their faces and flyaways illuminated in the glaring sun. Alexander’s eyes glittered in the harsh light, the green flecks appearing to be suspended in the brown and golden sea. It was then that Thomas realized that Alexander had just thanked him. Without being forced, without being coerced into it in any way. He’d just… thanked him. 

The taller man blinked, a little bit numb as a lock of Alexander’s hair slipped loose from where it was pinned by his ear and whipped across his young face. With this beating light, Thomas could see a rusty, auburn color hidden in his sandy mane, gorgeous and rich. 

Without even thinking about what the hell he was doing, he extended his fingers slowly… so slowly towards his face… towards that stray piece of hair. 

“Toma. Xander.”    
A voice sounded from behind Thomas and he jerked his hand back as if he had been burned… without ever having touched Alex’s face. He whipped his head around, followed by the rest of his body and a crunch of gravel as he saw it was just Lafayette. He coughed and straightened his suit cuff to cover up the motion, and Alexander stuffed his hands in his pockets, pushing the door closed behind him with a heel. 

The blonde had taken down his hair, and it now spilled half-down-half-up in a bun at his shoulders, longer than Alex’s and flowing. The man reached into his back pocket and produced his car keys, holding them up and jangling them for Thomas to see.

“Your request.” he spoke with his heavy accent, tossing them through Thomas. They arched in the air, glinted once, and Thomas caught them cleanly in one hand with a little “pap!” sound and a jangle. Alexander watched from behind, still a little struck from what had just passed between himself and Thomas. But not struck enough not to see that Lafayette was handing off his keys. He parted his lips with a tiny laugh of amused incredulity as he leaned up against the car and crossed his ankles leisurely. 

“Wow. Monsieur Lafs actually letting someone else touch his keys?” Alex shook his head, and Lafayette rolled his eyes, “Never thought I’d live to see the day.”   
The Frenchman chuckled and crossed over to Alexander’s side, throwing an arm over his shoulder as Thomas’s head followed the man the whole time. 

“Well.” Lafayette shrugged up his shoulders and his hands in confession, “You’ve got a tough partner, _ mon frère. _ He wants to drive my car. _ ”  _ He cast a glance at Thomas, who hissed in a breath through gritted teeth, apologetically. 

“Mm, yeah I’m gonna ask you to--” he pointed casually between the two and flicked his finger like a king, signifying that Lafayette and Alexander should take a step apart. Thomas wrinkled his nose condescendingly when Alexander rolled his eyes like a brat. 

“Yeah.” Thomas repeated, watching them shuffle aside and leave a couple inches of gap between them, “Perfect. Shall we?” he turned away like nothing had happened and pressed the keys with his thumb to hear Lafayette’s car beep and flash its tail lights once in response. The taller man strode off while Alexander and his trainer observed. 

Still looking ahead at Thomas, Lafayette spoke.    
“I do not get that man.” he said completely genuinely, and Alexander snorted, clapping a hand down on his shoulder. 

“Bitch, you think I do?”    
“Still your boss.” he warned as he craned over his shoulder at leisurely Alexander, who shrugged and slipped his hand off of Laf’s shoulder to tuck them both nonchalantly under his armpits.   
“I was never one to accept authority.”

“Clearly not…” Lafayette’s words were offhanded, his long hair blowing in the breeze as he squinted, watching Thomas like he was the most fascinating creature, “I think you may have broken Toma.” he frowned in consideration, “With your incessant… how you say? ‘Bitching’.” Lafayette mocked in a southern accent that made Alexander snort, but somehow the Frenchman retained a straight face, still musing over Thomas’s behavior. The Head of Agents certainly had his deep, philosophical side to go along with his romantic side, and it was showing in his eyes.

“I have seen a lot of things in my day. And that,” he shook his finger over at Thomas, glancing over his shoulder at the smaller boy again, lazily focusing on twirling his lollipop, “that is a man who does not like to share the things he cares about.” Alex frowned in consideration, obviously still contemplating something. After a moment of looking between the driver and the sniper, Lafayette whipped out his sunglasses from inside his suit with a rustle. Clearly, Alexander wasn’t going to respond to that. 

“And you do not mind that I join? Since we are friends and coworkers.” 

“Please, Lafs. Hell no.” Alexander laughed out loud, giving his boss a response and swinging his head to him with a disrespectful and condescending scoff, “You think I’d actually mind double-fucking hot French dude and psycho-Dom over there?” he tossed his head, and Lafayette smiled. 

“It was a joke, Xander. I know you don’t mind; you’ve always been an indecent and inappropriate pain--workplace or not.”

Alex tossed his chin cockily, “Well what’s the difference between a joke and two dicks, Lafs?” Alexander snorted, popping the candy out of his mouth with a wet sound and observing it. Lafayette furrowed his brows, and Alexander looked across to him. 

“I can’t take a joke.” Alex finished, and the older man burst out into a high, barking laugh. Alex snickered to himself before finishing on a high sigh. 

_ “Bien joué _ . Good one.” he clapped slowly, “Were you thinking of getting over to your partner?” he raised a brow. Alexander sighed deeply, leaning forward with his hands still tucked in his armpits and setting both feet on the crunchy, grimy ground. 

“Mhm. You sure you can spare the hour?” Alex started walking at Lafayette’s side, still hopelessly in his shadow at how short he was. The taller lifted his chin and walked nearly in the same entitled, regal manner that Thomas did. 

“On my day off, yes. Any other day, no.”    
“I guess the real question is, when did you become a kinkster?” Alexander buttoned his jacket as they walked; it was getting out of control in the wind. The taller man shrugged. 

“I did not.” he answered simply, still squinting off to the horizon like he was about to tell a long tale of old, “I must warn you that Toma says he will torture you later. What use would I be if I sat and watched him do those things, hm?”

“Well. You wouldn’t get much out of it except some mild mental trauma and a weird boner.” Alexander snickered. Lafayette went on, following suit with buttoning up his jacket as they crunched across the lot, leaving the Nigthcrawler behind. 

“ _ Oui _ . We save the rough sex for now. Which I do not mind.”   
“Vanilla boy.”    
“I am a man. And ‘vanilla’ is not an insult.” 

Alexander snorted, raising his head to meet Lafayette’s blue eyes, “To some of us, yeah.”   
“Well.” Lafayette stepped up to the side of his glimmering Rolls Royce, black and classy, “If it eases your conscience, Xander, Toma does not plan on being ‘vanilla’ with either of us today.” 

Alexander raised his brow, stopping to let Lafayette pull open the passenger door, taking shotgun on his own car.    
“Oh really?” Alexander raised a brow. Lafayette just chuckled. 

“If there is anything I have learned about your companion today, Xander, it is that he will never let you off the hook from what he calls discipline.” The man stepped into the car, but cast one glance over his shoulder, “No excuses.” he finished. 

* * *

“And no horseradish sauce.” 

“And no horseradish sauce.” Thomas echoed Alexander, speaking to his driver over the phone. For a couple moments there were only the sounds of the car AC and the highway, the faint chatter of someone on the other end of the phone before Thomas rumbled again. 

“That’s all. Have it there by twelve, or I’m not paying. No. Mhm. Bye.” he flicked his phone away from his ear and pressed the hangup icon with his thumb, settling it back on the center console between himself and Lafayette. 

The trainer’s car was incredibly nice, black leather seats, but he clearly didn’t trust anyone or himself with drinks in there because there was rubber lining across the floors. Ironically, the man was sipping from a cup of coffee as they drove, filling the car with the scent of new leather and coffee. 

Alexander, meanwhile, was sitting in the second row like he was being chauffeured, and he was  _ not  _ used to not having shotgun. He kept squirming around like he wanted to be in front with the adults, but they just ignored him. Still… something about being towed off like this directly to his ass’s demise was weirdly hot. 

“Alexander, continue.” Thomas demanded, and placed his other hand up on the steering wheel, watch face glinting in the afternoon light. It was odd to watch Thomas drive someone else’s car, but he knew what he was doing more than anyone else. 

“Make a left.” Lafayette spoke quietly, lifting his lips briefly from his coffee, and Thomas merged into the exit as Alexander grimaced and wiggled in his seatbelt. 

“Can’t you read it off?”    
“Lafayette’s doing directions, and I’m driving both your asses around, so take a wild guess of what my answer is going to be.” Thomas snapped gruffly, and Alexander mocked his partner’s face like a child, looking back down to his phone. 

“Jeez… Tough crowd.” he breathed under his breath, crossing his ankles once again as they bumped along down the highway and cleared his throat, beginning again. 

“This session between the participants will take place once and once only.” he monotoned just to spite Thomas, “The Dominant 2 will not be permitted to have sexual contact with the submissive after said session on this date: Monday, March blah blah blah…” he scrolled down. It was insanely specific for the twenty minutes those two had been in there planning it out. Thomas was a thorough man to say the very least. 

“All participants will speak in English when giving orders or directions. The submissive will address both Dominants as ‘sir’. The Dominants will not be obligated to do so to one another.” Alexander lifted his hazel eyes to the rearview mirror, looking at both of them, “unfair.” he added, and Thomas just shook his head slightly.    
“Keep reading, sweetheart. You’ve got a lot to go.” he spoke with a straight face, and Alex lowered his eyes back to his screen, shuffling in his seat. 

“Dominant 2 will be treated as a top.” he listed, but looked back up to Lafayette, “What does that mean?”    
Thomas dipped his head as he drove, turning on the blinker. Watching him casual-drive after such an intense mission was so strange. 

“It means any penetration is headed your way, wise-guy. Not his.”    
“Fair enough.” Alex laughed, dragging his thumb down the screen to go on. He cleared his throat again, finding his place. 

“Uhh… Dominant 1 will give all orders concerning the actions of both the submissive and Dominant 2. Noncompliance with orders will result in punishment. Parenthesis--punishment for Dominant 2 consists of temporary exclusion from the current activity, or parts of it depending on the wishes of Dominant 1: NO physical punishment.” Alexander looked up yet again, requesting elaboration. 

Thomas picked up on it immediately, clicking off his blinker as he seamlessly merged. 

“Mhm. If you don’t follow my orders, I know how to punish you as my submissive. If  _ he  _ doesn’t follow,” Thomas rumbled a cough, drumming his fingers once on Lafaytte’s wheel, “I can make him sit.”   
“Sit out?” 

Thomas dipped his head, “Sit out. No touching  _ you, _ no touching himself, only humping the edge of the bed--I’ll gauge it accordingly.” he waved his hand as he spoke, listing the number of things he could do instead of doing what he would to Alex: spanking, slapping, orgasm denial, pressure points, choking--the list goes on. 

Alex continued his reading from his phone  _ definitely  _ getting a tiny rush of heat between his legs at the sound of that. He wouldn’t make it through this list without needing his pants off. 

“Dominant 2 will never strike the submissive: Dominant 2 will notify Dominant 1 of misbehavior, to which Dominant 1 will respond accordingly.”

“What defines a misbehavior?” Lafayette inquired a little skeptically, moved his feet discreetly on the floor as he placed his hand slowly up on the window ledge. Thomas just shifted in his seat, rolling and popping his neck a bit as he piped up. 

“Alexander, baby, wanna give Mr. Lafayette an example of your insufferable back-talk?” he spoke in a kind tone to mock his sub.

Alex offhandedly slurred his next words while responding distractedly to a text message, “Sure… right after I roll off your mom…” he didn’t even hear what Thomas had asked, but ironically it worked impeccably. 

“Perfect.” Thomas nodded curtly at Lafayette, who pursed his lips in understanding, “Alexander gives you lip, and I’ll fix up that shit attitude. You understand?” 

Lafayette confirmed in French. 

“Can I go on? Thank you.” Alexander was now bouncing his heel impatiently on the rubber floor mat, knee bobbing in an almost jittery anticipation. The closer they got to HQ, the more he felt his testosterone levels rising in every part of his body. He wanted it. He wanted Thomas. It had been days since he was inside of him and he felt hyper-aware of his own cock tucked in those dress pants under his double-snake belt. Would Thomas let them pull over and do it by any chance?

“Dominant 2 will not kiss the submissive on the mouth without explicit permission. Dominant 2 will not enter the submissive in any form without explicit permission.” Alexander snickered, not looking up, “Jeez, Thomas.”   
“Is that a question? Then keep reading.” he growled self-defensively, and Alex searched for his place as Lafayette whispered to bear-right for their next turn at an intersection. Somehow… that little detail stuck out to him. No kissing on the lips without permission. No hitting without permission. And the way Thomas had brushed it off like he was a little embarrassed? 

He wasn’t just being possessive. He was being protective. Protective from anyone incorrectly hitting Alexander or using any tools that they weren’t trained to use. Alexander bit his bottom lip, a pure and happy smile pulling at his lips, a little warmth spreading in his chest. 

“Only the sexual climax of the submissive will be controlled. Noncompliance will result in punishment.” he rushed through that last little clause, knowing the drill as his eyes darted back and forth, scrolling down to the bottom. 

“The agreed-upon safeword will be ‘Calico’. Nonverbal is crossing of two fingers on both hands. Consent can be withdrawn at any time by any participant immediately following clear use of the safeword. ‘No’, ‘stop’, and crying will not halt the action.” 

“Crying?” Lafayette turned his face to Thomas, who didn’t return the glance, only sighed. 

“This one can’t keep his tears in no matter what I try, so.” he tapped his fingers on the wheel, and looked at Alex in the rearview, “He’s a crybaby.”    
“Am not.” Alex scoffed with a curled lip. 

Thomas rolled his eyes up into his head in an exhausted moment,“Are too, Alexander, you squeal like a little girl for her mommy.” he belittled on a sigh as if this was no new news. And it wasn’t. Alexander just grumbled a curse at his partner and ploughed on. 

“Dominant 2 will not participate in aftercare of the submissive. Dominant 1 will provide aftercare.” Alexander reached the end of the list, “Aaaand….” he trailed, finding the beginning of the last line, “All members must consent soberly and enthusiastically before the session can begin.” He clicked his phone off, screen going black as he set it down on the seat next to him. He glanced up at the backs of the heads in front of him. 

“Any of you been smoking crack this lovely morning?” he snickered, and Thomas rolled his eyes.    
“We’re obviously sober, wise-aleck; I have to add that detail for safety reasons.” he shook his head at the immaturity, pulling off the highway and onto the dirty, long lane up to the hidden HQ entrance. The car bumped along, rattling the passengers. 

“Any questions either of you?” Thomas addressed both of them, and Lafayette shrugged.

“No.” Alexander responded, “I just wanna get nailed.”

But the Frenchman seemed to have something on his mind. He inhaled, tapping his fingers on the hard center console and parting his lips, searching for a way to ask this.    
“Actually, Toma.” he licked his lips and looked across at him, wedging his cardboard coffee cup down in the holder with a little clatter. Thomas blinked as he glided his palm around the steering wheel, waiting for him to ask something. 

“Yes?” he prompted, a bit impatient, and Lafayette began to button-up his suit, seeing as they were almost there.    
“I was wondering what…” he flicked a glance of blue eyes through the rearview mirror to Alexander, “will he be wearing?” 

Thomas exhaled through his nose in a tiny huff as is lightly amused. 

“He’ll wear exactly what I tell him to wear.” he craned a bit around the corner as he gripped and re-gripped the wheel, gliding slowly in the lot and turning the tires on the grimy pavement. This time, it was Thomas’s turn to give Alex a glance in the mirror. The kid had taken off his suit jacket and was now sitting back there with his ankles crossed, belly and chest just barely visible through the white fabric of his button-up shirt. His tie ran down his front, knotted expertly at his throat, his white, starchy collar folded neatly. There was still a browning spatter of blood across the hip from their gun-skirmish, but except for that, Alexander looked irresistible. 

“I employed a professional some years ago to make personalized harnesses, but I haven’t made Hamilton an appointment with my fitter yet,” he shrugged, eyes still on Alex. Thomas had, of course, a personal, professional designer create all of his leather tools, harnesses, and whips. Only the best. It was about time he gave them a call… because this kid needed some of his own gear designed for that body....

“However, I do have some… thigh cuffs and a collar he’d look pretty in for now, if you don’t mind a little bit of that sort of thing, Gilbert.” Thomas cast him a sideways glance, “Very minimalistic compared to what I’d usually rig him in.” 

Alexander snorted a sarcastic laugh from the back, which earned him a knife-sharp glower. He knew that if Thomas had him to himself, he’d have him clad in more leather than a cart-ox, blindfolded, gagged, twisted like a pretzel and hung from the goddamn ceiling with his wrists and ankles tied over his own ass. If it meant a three-way, Alexander was sure he could handle a bit of lighter gear for the hour along with the roughest, rawest fucking in his entire life. Not to mention thigh cuffs sounded interesting… 

Lafayette lifted his fingers, shaking his head.    
“Don’t mind at all,  _ mon frère.”  _

* * *

Thomas stood in front of his tall mirror at the end of his cavernous closet and stared at his own reflection. His thick, black hair was neatly combed back and over his ears. Set up on the lit area he had once placed a necklace for Alexander to wear, there was his black tie, curled into a neat, tight roll. Thomas strode slowly up to it, not speaking a word as he daintily lifted the fabric and let it roll out to full length before he met his eyes in the mirror, slinging it around the back of his neck and popped collar. With the zipping and rustling of satin, he began to knot it in a familiar motion. 

Beside where the tie had been, his phone buzzed and lit up, another message pushing the other ones above it down the screen. Text message after text message from random friends and family, but mostly from a few of the subs in his little harem. Well. Little wasn’t the word for it. Biting his lip, Thomas swiped up on “do not disturb” and clicked his phone off again, silencing it. 

With a bit of a jarring realization, he just comprehended that he hadn’t responded to or texted one of them in four days. Four. Time had really flown, he guessed.    
And now he was about to have his last threesome before it was just himself and Alexander. Oh of course, he’d had many before, but never in his life had he double-dommed. He’d never given enough shits about a submissive to offer that privilege… but he’d also never been so possessive of one that he’d be able to keep control of both a submissive  _ and  _ another dominant.  _ Now,  _ on the other hand… 

Thomas sighed through his nose, meeting his own eyes as he pulled the knot up to his throat, lifting his chin and wiggling it snugly into place.

Previously, his submissives had always been more about the sexual gratification on his end. There was simply nothing to punish--they obeyed his every word like court maidens in fear of losing the king’s favor or something. Sure he could put on the mask and gloves, chain them to the table and drip hot wax over their little bodies, watch them squirm and scream… but it never felt right. There was only one sub now that set every part of his body aflame thinking about that kind of methodical torture. The kind that the kid deserved for his behavior. Alexander Hamilton. 

Thomas lifted his fingers to touch up the edge of his glossy hair.

Oddly, he had an inkling that including Alexander in a group setting with other _ submissives _ wasn’t something he wanted. Ever. Thomas often had two or three at the same time. It didn’t matter now when he had the gut-feeling that all of his attention would be on the naughty submissive and nobody else if he ever tried to do that again. That much, he was sure about. It wasn’t solely the fear that Alex would bite and growl at the other submissives, which was a logical assumption. It was about Thomas. He would have all eyes on the only one that would dare raise a brow at him provocatively, look him up and down slowly like he was taking his time thinking about the order he’d just received before cocking his chin with an entitled, “No. I don’t think I will.” 

Clearly, Alexander unleashed a far… deeper side of Thomas’s dominance that he had been training to use for years and was only finally getting the chance. 

The teenage sniper hardly knew that. Upstairs, Alex swished the minty, frothy water in his mouth around a few times, tilting his head back to gargle before spitting with a splash in the sink. His tongue felt absolutely raw with how hard he had scrubbed it with his toothbrush and then gargled mouthwash as well. 

He sniffed casually and tapped his toothbrush on the edge of the sink a few times, water droplets spraying before he tossed it carelessly back down onto the counter and looked up. He inhaled slowly, placing his palms on the edge of the sink. The mirror was foggy and dripping with condensation from his shower. His hair was dry and up in a ponytail on his head, pulled away from his youthful face that had been washed and dried in the shower, and he thought about how the blood had run down his body, auburn and crusted to his skin from the man he had killed, and ran down the drain.

And for a few moments, he just stared at himself. The white towel was wrapped around his hips, settled low, and he could see all of himself, his flat chest and small, light-brown nipples. He was a small kid, always had been. He tried to avoid being in mirrors alone for too long, but every once in a while… that’s where he ended up. It was never anything scary about them, he just didn’t enjoy staring at himself. Alone. 

Without even really thinking about it, his hand crept up to toy at the base of his hairline on his neck, stroking the strands that had come free, curling into little ringlets in the humidity. He stroked them absentmindedly, thinking... 

Completely on accident, he brushed the back of his neck where he felt that wiry bump. He stared at his own eyes for a moment… and when his thumb brushed over it, the memory flashed in front of his eyes, tearing the breath from his lungs without a moment's warning. 

Falling. Rushing, whistling wind around his ears.

Alex breathed in sharply through his nose once, unable to stop. His eyes snapped open. With shaking fingers, he started at the end of the scar, tracing slowly… slowly across. 

The crackling of branches. The mewl of a kitten. The thud. 

The nerves on his fingertips tingled numbly as they slowly bumped along the taut skin. 

The jarring halt of all movement… the hazy, light-polluted sky staring back at him. The warm trickle of blood.

Alex tore his hand away from his neck and clapped it back down to the table… chest heaving as he snapped his head up, locking with his wide eyes in the mirror. For a fleeting moment... he could see the blue behind them. The lies behind the hazel. The distortion of the flashbacks in his mind, the hazy, fogginess blinding him and pulling tricks on his imagination, and for an instant… his eyes were the same icy, arctic blue. 

“Shit…” he grumbled, ripping his eyes from his own in the mirror to just stare down at his hands for a while, belly heaving with deep, sucking breaths. They were loud in the bathroom silence. Head still hanging low, he lifted one hand to tug his hair out from the ponytail, sliding the elastic off his locks and letting them fall down like sinuous rivers to his shoulders. He sniffed, looping the elastic around his wrist before he gathered the damp towel in his hands, hiking it up as he turned away from the mirror and left the bathroom. Left that moment behind. 

Thomas hadn’t told him that he could come down yet--hadn’t said that he was ready. But Alexander’s bare feet quietly thumped down the stairs, towel swishing around his legs. He didn’t care if Thomas was ready or not, because he was coming down. He needed to be in someone else’s presence right now. Anyone. But strangely… he wanted to be in Thomas’s. 

He swung into the familiar room and placed his naked feet on the soft carpet taking a deep breath. 

“Hey daddy. What’s goin’ down in pound-town?” he asked in a grossly exaggerated southern accent as he sauntered inside. Somehow… he immediately felt better. The anxiety lifted from him like steam.   
Thomas was standing at the side of the bed, looking over a collection of black leather he had spread out when his head turned to Alex. 

“What are you doing here?”   
“I live here. Remember?” Alex looked around as he walked up to his partner, taking it in as the terrifying flashbacks drifted off into the wind, already completely gone. Both cabinets were wide open, boastfully showing off his display. It was… impressive in its magnitude and organization. This was the first  _ good  _ look Alex had gotten at both of them open, and he took advantage of it.

Scary-looking metal objects and tools hung beside long leather whips and straps, gags, harnesses, and cuffs of all sorts. Shock tools and circuit boards, and frightening beaded dildos that looked slightly too large for a human. There were clamps and waxes for melting and bottled chemicals that were surely all safe, but  _ definitely  _ meant to torture whipping wounds. 

Yet all these objects did was ignite Alexander at the sheer variety, made his heart thud with thrill in his chest. The pain at Thomas’s hands was infinite. It was unbounded. Somehow, Alexander managed to swallow with a nervous laugh, coming up next to his much taller and larger counterpart. On the stormy grey sheets of the bed, the covers and pillows had been stripped off, leaving only the tight, smooth sheets, fresh and laid for what was about to go down. Spread out neatly on the mattress was an array of leather, black, thick, and  _ heavy _ . 

Alex took a tiny step closer to the bed, that same curious glint in his eye that Thomas was coming to adore--the quiet curiosity as his brain digested and calculated what was in front of him, slightly blushing. 

“This for me, driver-boy?” 

“They don't belong to you. But it’s yours to wear. So yes.” Thomas rumbled, still looking at Alex, fully naked with a towel swathed around his waist, “I’d put you in more if our boss didn’t mind. I hope you know that by now.”

For a few moments, he let Alexander do his exploring with his eyes, gazing over the metal loops for hooking things to and the shining buckles. Thomas tilted his head towards the kid and inhaled to speak.

“Lafayette texted. He’ll be here soon.”   
“I figured.” Alex shrugged, eyes still mesmerized by the straps laid before him. Thomas slowly extended a hand to glide along the sheets, reaching and closing around a large, leather loop with circular metal rings and a huge buckle.

“Then I think it’s time I made you look presentable for our guest.” There was a jangle and a rustle that drew Alexander’s eyes as Thomas dragged the thing towards him across the bed. The man raised a brow, “No?”   
Alexander purred cunningly, lifting his chin, “You’re implying I don’t look presentable now?” he cast a smile at Thomas across his shoulder, “Rude.” he noted loftily. Obviously, the stage was set. Their dance begins as soon as one of them commences. The clock was ticking, counting down until that instant. 

Thomas could feel himself clicking into domination, finding that controlling headspace of his; it happened so quickly that it was almost startling. Sure he had had time to look through his cabinets before Alex came down, but the kid’s presence flipped the switch. 

And Alexander was ravishing…   
Thomas placed his left hand on Alexander’s hip as he looked down on his face like he was a delicious specimen, slowly rounding behind him, circling him like prey and checking out what he was working with. Alex tried to turn his head around to look at Thomas, but the man lifted his hand from his waist and grabbed his jaw, straightening it back out so he was looking forward. 

“Head straight, Alexander.” he growled, digging his fingers in for just a moment before roughly letting him go and gliding his hand down Alexander’s neck, squeezing it gently as he reached around the boy’s front with his other hand, still holding the leather. Alex watched the powerful hand come around in front of him, eyes craning to watch while still keeping his head in place. 

“To answer your question, slut, no.” Thomas spoke calmly, slipping his thumb under the edge of the white towel, still damp, “I don’t think you look presentable.” 

“Well that’s not very nice, Thomas.” Alexander cooed, but he gasped a bit at the cold rush of air when the man untucked the corner that was holding the garment up, letting it fall away in a pile around Alexander’s feet. A little awkwardly, Alex tried to step around it a bit, shocked by the bite of the cold air. 

Thomas made a tiny noise of approval.

“Mm. That’s better.” he huffed in amusement, not bothering to touch Alexander’s half-hard cock. If he was honest, the kid did have a beautiful member, and larger than most bottoms. It was perfectly proportionate to how it should be, perky with the curve and almost fully hard now. 

Alex shook his head.    
“You’re gross.” he scoffed, and immediately, his voice was cut off with a gargling choke. In one swift movement, Alexander’s head was roped tightly against Thomas’s chest. In an instant, they had started their scene. Thomas had started it. The switch had been flipped.

Alex gritted his teeth, hands shooting up to clap down over Thomas’s fists, clawing at the man’s knuckles.   
“And that’s coming from who now?” Thomas snarled up against his ear as Alex squirmed, his bare ass and back pressed against Thomas’s fully clothed body. There was a jangle close to his face as he realized that Thomas was pinning his throat to his chest with an open collar, one fist holding each end. And it was  _ thick _ . Alexander growled primitively, never one to give up a fight as he felt his blood heat up. 

“Coming from the motherfucker who’s about to get your pathetic-ass hard in three seconds flat.” Alexander strained, reaching behind him to claw his hands behind Thomas’s neck, lace his fingers together roughly and  _ grind  _ his naked ass against the dry dress-pants fabric clothing Thomas’s cock.

He bit his lip, craning for eye contact as he did so. He didn’t expect pleasure for himself, but it felt…  _ good _ , that sort of friction on his tight entrance, the many nerves around it.

“You like that?” he panted a bit, moving like a violent dancer as he arched his back and repeated the motion again, harder this time, painfully so.

“Oh, you do like it. I can tell.” he wiggled himself now, getting his bulge between his cheeks so he was able to feel the cold kiss of Thomas’s belt against his crack, “Holy fuck, Thomas, you’re hard.” he panted dirtily, “Jesus, and you say  _ I  _ can’t control myself.”

He struggled to turn his head to the side, the tight leather still strangling and constricting him, but he managed to stick his tongue out and lick hotly across Thomas’s chest, feeling his burning flesh on his taste buds, sampling it. He only got a moment of contact before it was Thomas’s move. And he had not made him happy…

In an instant, Alexander went from standing to face-down on the bed. Literally. Thomas shoved his head down into the mattress with his hand and pinned him there, rubbing him roughly as he barked his next words in a coarse, relishing tone.

“You have no idea how much trouble you’re in, you dumb shit.” Thomas lifted his hand so Alex could breathe, but not before grinding into him, dry humping him so hard that his knees buckled beneath him, scrambling to get a grip on the bed. Face still shoved down on the mattress, he tasted the sheets, dry against his tongue, leaving a wet streak.

“You wanna pretend you like dry humping? Don’t tempt me.” The dominant man reached up towards his neck and jerked the leather around so that the heavy buckle was in his hands. With a clink, he fed the tail through, tightening it snugly around his throat. It was taller than the collar he had had the boy wear their first session. It was heavy. It was the real deal this time. 

“You want it on the agenda? I’ll put it on the fucking agenda.” Thomas spat as he worked, fastening the top buckle and the one beneath it, the only thing between them being a metal ring. He had to tuck the excess back through the belt loop neatly as he always did, but there was a  _ lot  _ of excess which brought him to his final conclusion. This kid needed his own gear; he was simply so small. He went on with his point,

“I can force you to cum from a clothed cock. On both of us. I don’t have a fucking problem with that.” Alexander grunted and attempted to push himself up, but Thomas shoved him back down and followed him this time, tangling a hand in his hair now that they were free. As he listened to Alexander’s panting snarls between gritted teeth, he reached across the bed for what he was searching for and found it easily, the only item that was made of chains. 

“Luckily for your pathetic-ass, we’ve got company today. So raincheck, hm?” he whispered into Alexander’s ear, hand still knotted against his scalp, the honey-brown strands tangling between his large fingers. For a few moments, he took the liberty of watching Alexander roll his head just a tiny bit, squirming beneath his body as he got used to the feel of the collar around his neck. Being owned. Thomas tilted his face up to his.

“So you wanna pull your shit together, Allie?” he mumbled quietly next to his ear and pursed his lips. He shook his head, “It’s up to you.” 

The kid only snorted disrespectfully, catching Thomas by surprise, “‘Up to me’. My ass.” Alex scoffed, and Thomas rolled his eyes. 

“Why am I not surprised?” he sighed boredly, lifting his body up with one last rough shove on Alexander’s hair, pushing his head in the mattress momentarily before the sniper lifted it back up. But not before there was a metallic click from behind him. And then the sharp tinkle of metal. There was a sort of… added weight to the back of his neck. 

And then--even though Thomas was standing--alexander felt the tug. The jingling. The collar pulled backwards against his trachea, restricting his air. 

Behind him… Thomas slowly and daintily curled the chain leash around the back of his knuckles, wrapping it once and then twice around his bare fist. His eyes glinted at the sight, that slightly bent-over nakedness lying belly-down on his tall bed. He saw the wet spot where Alexander’s mouth had made contact with the sheets, darker than the rest.

“Stand up, Alexander. I’m going to finish cuffing you.” he grumbled, and when there was no response but a glance over his shoulder, a flash of hazel eyes, Thomas parted his feet, stepped closer, and lifted Alexander up by the leash. 

He didn’t pull back or else he could break his neck. But he lifted up enough to get the point across. He was strong enough.

“Alright.” Thomas mumbled now that Alex had stumbled backwards over his heel, standing with his back to Thomas again. 

“Did you just put a fucking leash on me, Jefferson?” Alexander scoffed, a disgusted scowl written across his face. He looked over his shoulder, heavy collar and chains creating a metal symphony. The utter humiliation was equal to the arousal of heat waves between his thighs. Thomas, meanwhile, was busy wrapping the end of the chain around the ball-beaded bedpost with the percussive sound of chains clattering on wood. 

“Shit--” Alexander stumbled sideways over his foot again when the slack was taken away, reeling him right up against the bedpost. The dominant smirked down on Alexander as he pulled it tight and fastened the thick bolt snap back on the loop, fastening him by his throat to the post. 

“I did. Sit tight, won’t you?” Thomas asked kindly, obviously rubbing it in with no lack of cruelty as Alexander squirmed, struggling, but the back of his neck was still fastened with no leeway room to the post. Grunting and writhing, Alex lifted his hands to the collar, rolling his head forward until he gagged. It was the biggest thing he’d ever worn around his neck--not a posture collar, mind you, but it was hefty to say the least. 

When Thomas returned, Alexander was more than ready to share words with him. 

“So this is your big idea, huh?” he strained. Thomas towed a  _ lot  _ more leather with him, rounding in front of Alexander. It was almost ridiculous how much bigger Thomas was than him. Almost pitiful watching the little one give lip to such a beast. 

“Never once did I say you could talk, bitch.” Thomas shook his head, setting the things directly at Alexander’s feet with a thump of collapsing leather on carpet, “not once. If you want to take a look at those gags over there, you can take your pick, and I’ll be more than happy to hook you up.” Thomas watched Alexander battle to turn his face and look, tendons popping on his pretty neck. Quietly, Thomas came close to him so that when Alexander looked back, they were belly-to-belly. Chest-to-chest. 

Alex wasn’t expecting it, and he did a double-take and parted his lips silently, glancing up into those black, merciless eyes. He could smell his Yves Saint Laurent cologne, his masculine musk enveloping his senses. The boy closed his mouth, silent. Thomas tilted his head an inch to mock Alexander’s clear display of submissive tendencies.

“Or you could just watch your mouth.” he suggested as he moved his hands towards Alexander’s pretty little belly, and Alex’s taut skin twitched when they touched him, making his belly dance. Alexander grunted, shifting his weight on his bare feet and curling his toes in the carpet, trying to stay balanced. Thomas glided his large palms up and down the warm smoothness, feeling it rise and fall beneath his hands--heated and alive. He smelled like anyone fresh-out-of-the-shower would smell, pleasant and soapy.

Alex helplessly watched the hands on his body, squirming at the sensation but begging for it to continue. In Thomas’s hands, he didn’t feel violated like he should cringe away. His body in Thomas’s hands was safety. Security. And it perplexed him how it should be so...

Thomas cast Alexander one dark-eyed glance before he slowly began to lower himself, letting his hands settle on Alexander’s hips. He was down on one knee.

Alexander almost gaped in shock. For the first time ever, Alexander was higher than Thomas, the black eyes focused nonchalantly on his navel as he pressed a kiss right above it on the flat plane of Alex’s rising belly. The teenager jerked slightly, twitching at the hot sensation of lips on his sensitive skin. He could feel Thomas’s warm breath on his stomach as he exhaled, flicking and swirling his searing tongue once over his skin before dragging a sharp canine over the spot. 

“Ah…” Alex grimaced, twitching, but this time the sensitive tip of his cock brushed up against Thomas’s suit collar to the left of his tie. His arousal mounted at the tingling stimulation that the man took away in an instant. 

In his distracted state, he hadn’t even comprehended that Thomas had carefully lifted two thick loops of leather, too small to be collars. 

“Wrists. Now.” he demanded, but didn’t even wait for compliance before pulling Alexander’s skinny wrist forward and down. He expertly fit it through the leather until it was snugly in place before turning Alex’s forearm upright, revealing the paler side as he jerked the buckle to tighten it. It was so sexy to watch those large hands roughly buckling him in, finding the right hole and feeding the metal through it to seal Alex's fate. When he was satisfied, he moved on to the second one. Chains dangled from each, bumping against Alexander’s thighs, cold and shiny as Thomas's fingers worked diligently. 

“So hands tied behind my back?” Alexander pursed his lips, “Very creative, Holmes.” he snorted, struggling to look down when he was collared so tightly. 

The man lifted his head and shot Alexander a black gaze of wrath. Of warning. Clearly, they were at the point in which talking back to Thomas would amount to real and genuine consequences--the point where Alexander actually had to be careful if he didn't want to get punished. He shook his head slowly.

“Don’t ever talk to me like that.” his voice was an even whisper… lethally quiet…

Alexander swallowed with some difficulty, rotating his wrists slowly to get the feel of the cuffs and force the moment to pass. After a few long seconds finally ticked by, Thomas answered. 

“Not behind your back.” his eyes fell back down to the sight before him, slowly, raising two fingers to stroke the backs of them on Alexander’s gorgeous thigh. The harder whiplashes were still visible in fading purple, the rest of them already healed. Still, it was a dark reminder of what had happened and what was still yet to come. 

“I have something else in mind.” he rumbled deeply, lifting from the floor something too small to be a belt yet too large to be a collar. Alexander’s eyes darted all over the strange thing, contemplating. But when he looked back at Thomas’s hand still resting on his thigh, he understood.

* * *

Lafayette’s foot bounced impatiently on the floor as he checked his watch again. Thomas had let him in a minute ago and told him to wait in the living room. 

It was a hell of a nice apartment, that much was obvious. But there was only one part of it that he was interested in being in now, and Thomas and Alexander were in there without him. In the quiet, the man rotated his watch again and checked the time: eleven-thirty in the morning.

His hair was in a neat fishtail braid, his body clad in a full suit as Thomas had requested. Yet the man had texted him that the door to the apartment was unlocked and told him to please wait in the parlor. And waited, he had. 

This felt like a formal affair. A business arrangement. But could he expect any less? It had been made very plain that Thomas Jefferson didn’t walk around letting people casually have sex with his… fuckbuddy? Is that what they were? It puzzled him. 

Some parts were understandable. Thomas had a strong dislike for the boy, so it was convenient that he had a means by which to keep him in check--both of their affinity towards BDSM practices. But the possession, the protectiveness was something that the Frenchman couldn’t figure out as he sat on the couch and observed the apartment that still smelled faintly of breakfast, the morning light from the DC “skyline” glowing pleasantly across the granite countertops in the kitchen, the fridge and the glass coffee table. 

Finally, after an eternity of silence and stillness, there was a soft click as a door down the hallway cracked open. Lafayette’s heart took a leap in his chest. With two quiet thumps, Thomas Jefferson stepped out, hand on the handle as he unbuttoned his suit with the other. He looked dashing. Impossibly tall. But mostly, he looked strikingly calm. When he saw Lafayette, he smiled politely. 

“ _ Monsieur. _ ” he greeted, and Lafayette raised his chin as well. 

“ _ Monsieur. _ ” the Frenchman responded politely. Thomas ran a hand down the front of his suit, smoothing down his tie. 

“Sorry for the wait.” he sighed, and Lafayette lifted his fingers in a polite, dismissive gesture, “he’s been a bit of a…” Thomas searched for the right word but just shook his head slightly, “Difficult.”

Lafayette huffed in response, and Thomas chuckled, sniffing when he finished and returning to a straight face. 

“We have a good five-minute window of good manners if you want to come in now.”

“Five minutes?” The older chuckled grimly, and Thomas huffed a light laugh as well. The taller one waved him over with two fingers, and Lafayette leaned forward with a sigh, hand on his diaphragm to keep his tie at his chest as he rose. While he walked forward, entering the hall, Thomas scanned his appearance.

He looked hot. There was no denying it. Being pale had no negative affect on that--he didn't even need a golden-tan complexion to look stunning. There might’ve been easier men to double-Dom with out there, but this one would be the most... entertaining for sure. 

The man approached with entitled strides, and Thomas suddenly realized that he wasn’t going to stop. He wasn’t going to wait for permission to enter first like a submissive would. The taller man swallowed, understanding the boundary that he had to set. 

When Lafayette was about to walk past him into the bedroom, Thomas stopped him with a darting hand on the man’s belly, resting just above his navel on the warmth of his button-up shirt. Lafayette jerked to a stop with a squeak of heels on the hardwood, quickly looking Thomas up and down for an explanation. The man that had halted the motion could feel the other man breathing through the contact, feel the power radiating from each of them alike. He dipped his head close to Lafayette’s. He smelled like expensive perfume, his fragrance surrounding Thomas, and for a moment, the tension thickened between them.

“I’ll enter the room first, Gilbert.” he slowly lifted his hand and lowered it back to his side, remembering that he couldn’t move his boss by force, only by words, “Take a step back.”

For a tense moment, there was a conflict in Lafayette’s eyes. But his tongue darted over his lips once. Like another certain someone, he was not accustomed to being told what to do. After only a moment of consideration, he did as Thomas asked him to. That was the first sign that the superior man had issues with taking directions, but he--unlike Alexander--had the self-restraint to follow them. He was respectful and mature enough to accept it.

“Thank you. I know this isn’t the easiest dynamic to take, but you’re not in charge under my roof, Gilbert.” Thomas shook his head in a polite manner, just speaking the truth to his boss, “You’re not.”

The blonde inhaled deeply, ready for yet another explanation, “I am a grown man, Toma.” he spoke coolly, “Old enough to both command respect and give it.” he raised his brows at Thomas with a shrug, “I am more than capable of working beside you.”   
Thomas exhaled deeply, relieved at the sound of that. There wouldn’t be any more fighting. Disagreements, perhaps. But no more fights. He calmly linked his hands in front of his body.

“Well. If that’s the case, I can show you inside, my friend.” Thomas’s eyes smirked, but his face did not. Blue and black eyes met, “If you so please.” 

“I would be much obliged.” Lafayette responded, and Thomas finally pushed the door inwards with the tips of his fingers, opening it wider. It didn’t even creak, just glided smoothly on new hinges towards the inside of the room ominously. With a final glance to Lafayette, he turned his body and stepped inside, leading the way with a waft of musk trailing behind him. The Frenchman could see around Thomas’s frame that it was bright within the room. Clearly… the lights were staying on for whatever they were doing, which caused a bit of dull heat to hint at his lower belly. 

Thomas’s opened suit jacket swished, and he beckoned over his black shoulder with a flick of his fingers for the second dominant to follow. Lafayette raised his chin, and finally, they would begin. This was going to be it.

Ankle bones knocking together a bit, Alexander shuffled his feet in impatience. He was… very curious to see Lafayette’s reaction, to give him a show. Thomas had left the cabinets open and spread to intimidate or impress him--whichever came first--and Alex, well, he was still where Thomas had left him. With shifting and shuffling of suits and pants, both men filed in. Alexander instinctively went to link his hands cunningly in front of him, but with a tug of restraint on his thighs, he lowered them back down, sniffing in disappointment. Instead, he observed in silence as the blonde turned to carefully close the door behind them… and when he locked it with a click, Alexander’s heart leapt into his throat with jittery excitement, a splash of heat between his legs.

He smiled. Lafayette had finally lifted his head, and his lips fell open. Hand still on the door handle, he gaped.

Alex kept his head bowed in modesty as Thomas had ordered, but his hazel eyes glinted as he observed his boss gape in bafflement at him. Surely, it was understandable. Alex was standing bare at the end of the bed. The room was bright and airy, the bed neat and made, but Alexander Hamilton was in a manner a rare handful of people had seen him in. 

His throat was clad with a heavy collar, chained and bound to the post behind his head. Wrapped around each lean thigh was a beautiful cuff, high up on each of his gorgeous legs. From his wrists trailed short chains--hardly any slack--that attached to the thigh cuffs, holding him strictly in place. All-in-all, this was a sight to behold, the teenager was sure. He thought to himself with a little cocky head tilt: the infamous Alexander Hamilton chained in bondage. The legendary murderer sunk to this low. 

Thomas stood beside him, arms crossed over his suit. The man raised his brows.    
“Alright there?” he asked, and Lafayette shook his head, waving one hand. 

“Yes. Yes.” he responded, stepping inside of the room as if unfazed, but they all knew better. Alex’s eyes followed him, and for some reason the kid wasn’t speaking. However, an arrogant smile curled at the ends of his lips when Lafayette glanced down at his cock, unable to help it. Thomas inhaled, ready to speak. 

“Let me be the first to say that I consent to this action.” he nodded to Lafayette, then to Alexander, who did nothing but stand there and breathe, his gorgeous chest rising and falling steadily to show elegantly curved ribs beneath his skin. 

“Alexander has consented when I was in here, Gilbert. But I’d like him to do it again if he still feels the same way.” he turned his face back to Alex, looking in his eyes.    
“So Alex,” he addressed him, “One more time. Do you fully consent?” as he asked the question, he lifted one hand to rest on the top of Alexander’s head, slowly stroking it down the back. He pet his hair, and Alexander closed his eyes, face still straight, but helplessly, his brows twitched upwards in a moment of reverberating pleasure. His nerves were on fire wherever Thomas touched him...   
“I do, sir.” he spoke without even thinking about it, and Thomas frowned for a moment, impressed with Alexander’s manners.

“Good  _ boy _ .” he furrowed his brows, an expression very close to pride on his face, “Gilbert?” he looked up to him, still running his hand over Alexander’s head like a pet, pampering him in reward for being so polite and respectful. 

“I consent.” the man responded in his thick, French accent, still stuck on staring at Alex. The way he closed his eyes as Thomas touched him. 

“Excellent.” Thomas sniffed, casting Lafayette a dark glance, “Why don’t you say hello to him? He hasn’t been particularly patient, but I can let it happen.” Thomas nodded to Alex, and Lafayette stepped forth, blue eyes trained on Thomas, who smiled.    
“A kiss to warm him up, Gilbert. I think that would be fairly appropriate.” Thomas stroked Alexander’s temple rhythmically with his thumb while Lafayette considered. However, Thomas’s eyes glinted.    
“Though we can both tell the slut’s already  _ ready  _ for us, isn’t he?” he hinted more seriously, and Lafayette glanced naturally at Alexander’s cock, almost fully hard and certainly throbbing with need. Alexander pressed his knees together momentarily, sensing the eyes on that area. It certainly didn’t help the throb of hot blood coursing through it, not desperate yet, but certainly needy enough to be irking and troublesome. 

The kid caught the glance between Thomas and Lafayette before the older man turned to Alexander, gazing down in his eyes. Finally, he was going to get some goddamn action. Mouth-on-mouth action, and he felt his cock stir in anticipation. When he met Lafayette’s eyes, he could sense the bated hunger within the deep blue, but clearly he was a composed soul. He would wait until the right time and place. Carefully, he cupped Alexander’s other cheek in his warm, calloused palm, holding him. The kid smirked with those familiar, cocky lips, and Lafayette could tell that he was  _ relishing  _ in this treatment. Alex had to admit, being doted on by two men was a definite turn-on. Fucking undeniably hot. 

“You are very beautiful, Xander.” he complimented softly, lifting his hand to hold Alex’s chin like he was breakable and scan his face, mapping his features. The kid shrugged loftily in an “I know” sort of way, because he did know. He was well aware that he was pretty, pretty,  _ pretty _ . Lafayette tilted his head, still looking at him as he thumbed at Alexander’s bottom lip, wetting the pad of his finger. Alex liked the feeling--he had a lot of nerve endings surrounding his lips--and he darted the wet tip of his tongue over Lafayette’s skin to taste it momentarily before Thomas saw. 

While the alpha dominant held the back of Alexander’s head steady, stroking the nape of his neck to remind him that he was there and in-charge, Lafayette tilted Alex’s face up to his own and closed his eyes, leaning down closer. Alex did the same, already feeling the hot breath on his lips as he opened his mouth just wide enough to be too slutty. Thomas watched, head raised as he stayed in complete control of the action, still feeling that dull burn in his own stomach--the domination waiting to prove itself. It was oddly hot to watch someone lapping Alex’s mouth, and he could sense his own cock twitch with interest at the experience, an odd sort of arousal. 

Alex felt their lips meet, but he wanted more--he wanted the taste. He tried to open his mouth wide and go in with tongue, but he felt the contracting, warning squeeze on the back of his neck, the driver’s brows twitching down. 

“Hey. Tongue in your own mouth till he wants it out.” he sneered quietly, “Cut it.” Alexander glared with his eyes still closed, wanting to retort, but he obeyed. Opening his mouth but keeping his tongue inside for Lafayette to do as he willed with, he let himself be controlled. The muscular blonde opened wide, licking into Alexander’s mouth in a deep and filthy French kiss. To his dirty delight, the hot, wet tongue of his superior requested his tongue almost immediately. Alex’s belly twitched between them, his cock stirring too as the wet noises of the kiss sounded filthily in the space. Lafayette kissed far differently from Thomas; it was equally as controlled, but it was more paced and gentle, no teeth, only dexterous tongue. 

After a few moments, Thomas slowly raised his chin, signaling for them to halt. Alexander’s lips remained gorgeously parted as Lafayette stood straight again, holding Alex’s cheek. The kid’s eyes fluttered open again, pupils retracting in the light. That was… amazing in itself, but something about having Thomas regulate and supervise was even hotter. And the hornier Alexander got, the more prone he was to hell-raising. Now was no exception. 

He licked his own lips, a droplet of saliva hanging from his bottom one about to fall. It was delicious, the taste of the man. Just as Thomas thought the kid was being quiet and modest, he gave a devilish smirk to his doms, daunted in height, size, and age but not in spirit.    
“Well, well, well. I can’t tell what I like more. Southern or French cuisine.” he purred mischievously, raising his head and biting his lip, “Gotta warn you, Thomas, lot to live up to, there.” the boy raised a provocative brow at the Virginian, tracing his tongue over his wet lips one more time to lick off the last of Lafayette’s souvenir, “Because that tasted pretty fucking good if you ask me--”   
The next sound was a rattling clatter of chain on wood as Thomas dived in, devouring and defiling Alexander’s mouth at a pace unknown to man. Alexander jerked with an unsuspecting yelp, adrenaline and flight reaction kicking in at the same time, supercharging his brain. His scalp burned when Thomas clenched up the hair already in his hand at the base of Alex’s neck; he also grasped and wiggled his fingers up under Alexander’s left thigh cuff for leverage, causing it to ride up half an inch on his upper thigh. Lafayette could just stand and watch in shock as Thomas took Alex’s lip between his molars and bit down. Hard. The kid whimpered in pain then squealed, jerking his wrists, but they only tugged on his thighs with a clang, useless. 

Lafayette almost gaped. The two of them were animals, one chained and one free, but both of them wild and rabid as they licked and bit each other. And Alexander’s cock sprung to full hardness in a second, twitching out in the open as it brushed against Thomas’s leg, sending a frustrating friction tingling in his belly. Before he could grind and hump against Thomas’s clothed thigh, Thomas pulled away prematurely, leaving Alexander leaned forward for more, pulling desperately against his collar. 

For a moment, the only sound was the kid’s panting. His belly rose and fell against the leather belt, his chest heaving and flashing ribs with every breath. Thomas smoothed down his tie in a gentlemanly manner, a disapproving look on his face. 

“Good thing I didn’t ask you. Isn’t it?” he questioned rhetorically, watching Alexander close his swollen lips slowly, wanting so much more. But Thomas had plans in mind that would keep them open. 

He glanced across at his boss and down between his legs in search of the go-ahead that he was seeking. He’d never seen Lafayette’s cock in his life, but he had a hunch that it wouldn’t be too far less sizable than his own. Looking now at the space below his glinting belt, It was obvious that something so far had gotten him hard… very hard. A considerable bulge showed a visibly cut cock like both other men in the room, but the fact that he could see it through his pants was enough proof. 

The driver looked back to Alexander and stepped up to him, speaking to Lafayette over his shoulder as he did so. 

“Get your clothes off. Everyone’s well acquainted, I’d say.” he dictated shortly, unclipping the leash from the back of Alexander’s collar and filing it away from the bedpost, feeding it into his hands. He swung it once, looking down upon Alexander like a king as he clipped the leash to the front of his collar this time, the metal glinting in the ample light of the bedroom. He turned the boy so that now Thomas’s back was facing the bed, and Alexander was facing him. The boy smiled, still a bit out of breath as he faced his dominant, obviously enjoying himself. What was on Thomas’s mind, he had a few guesses. He  _ did  _ know that it was time to get up on the bed now. 

Meanwhile… Lafayette slowly rounded, eyes on Alexander’s shapely ass as he passed by, shrugging off his suit jacket at a crawling pace... 

“And you…” Thomas drawled slowly, towering over Alexander, drawing closer until the kid’s cock brushed against his own bulge, and he exhaled, “Get on the bed like the fuck-whore you know you are.” he whispered quietly, wrapping the leash around his knuckles all the way up to the end so that his fist was right at Alex’s throat. Slowly, he pulled him forth, watching him bend his head forward, hair spilling over his shoulders to dangle in front of his face. Thomas’s lip twitched at his own power, carefully swinging his knee backwards and up onto the soft mattress of his bed. 

“Ugh…” Alex made a noise of effort, wrists jangling uselessly when he tried to yank them up.

“You talk about cuisine?” he watched Alex step forward once and grunt, right up against the edge of the bed as Thomas lifted his other knee, now sitting up there with his leashed slut beneath him. Alex tossed his head once, bouncing his hair. 

“How about fill your slut-mouth with something other than your pathetic attempt to get a rise out of me?” Thomas spat viciously, applying more pressure and forcing him forth and for all, walking backwards on his own knees, sinking into the mattress as Alexander finally gave in and followed. The sniper placed one shin up on the bed, and Thomas’s eyes flashed in hunger.

“You fucking useless bag of shit. That’s what I thought. On your goddamn knees.” he shamed ruthlessly, letting loose some slack when Alexander finally thumped down to both knees in defeat, sitting back on his heels at the end of the bed. It was difficult for the Dom to tear his eyes from Alexander’s submissive stance, but Thomas cast a glance sideways to Lafayette who had just stopped at Alex’s side, lightly stroking his cock and still standing. 

His pants and belt had been discarded, and now he finished the last button of his shitt, letting it fall off his pale frame quietly to the floor like a veil. Thomas took a moment to observe his body, naked now in front of him. 

He was strapping, muscles rolling beneath his pale skin. Not to mention masculine as hell; he kept the dusting of hair over his pecs and the singular, natural trail down his lower belly between his abs. Thomas’s eyes made their way down to his cock gripped loosely in the man’s hand. 

It was maybe two-thirds of an inch shorter than his own, but strikingly equal in girth. And he certainly made up for it in veins, thick and texturous down his shaft that would surely provide ample stimulation. Like Alexander’s, it stood up at an angle towards his belly, a higher erection than just ninety degrees. From what Thomas could see around the pale hand, he knew that it was a fine member if he’d ever seen one, and now the man was just gently and leisurely stroking the base with one loose hand, eyes still on Alex. Thomas looked up to Lafayette’s eyes now, and the man met them, braid slipping over his shoulder like a smooth rope.

“Hey.” Thomas clipped and tossed his head towards Alex, “Get up here and carry the kid with you.” Thomas gestured at the headboard as Lafayete approached Alexander from behind, eyes down low on his ass again, still taking it in. 

“Make him suck your cock; I’m getting undressed.” he puffed out an impatient breath and tossed the leash down to the bed as Lafayette climbed up from the side, limber with muscles rippling all over his attractive physique. 

For a moment, he glanced from Alex to Thomas, questioning. 

“You want me to just..?” 

Thomas had swung himself agilely from the bed, feet on the floor when he stopped and pointed at Alexander, growing impatient, “Pick him up.” he emphasized slowly, raising his voice a bit the more eager he became, “bring him over there.” he moved his finger to the head of the bed, “And stuff his whore mouth. You’re a big boy, Gilbert; you can handle him.” 

“Of course I can handle it.” the man huffed, already bending over Alex. The kid watched his boss’s braid dangle in front of his face, the blonde glowering for a moment at Thomas who had luckily already turned away. There was a tinkling of metal sound of Thomas unbuckling his belt and a rustle of sheets as the Frenchman bent down, dug his thick arm under Alexander’s legs and armpits, and hoisted him with ease. Alex could feel the power behind his grip, their skin hot against each other’s as his side pressed against Lafayette’s abdomen. The smaller raised his head over Lafayette’s shoulder to glimpse Thomas as the carrier walked on his knees across the mattress, swinging the kid with each stride. 

“Tell him you want to fuck me.” Alexander whispered urgently so that Thomas couldn’t hear, but Lafayette didn’t seem to hear him. He squirmed, chains jangling, “Ask him to fuck me, Lafs--”

“ _ Soyez silencieux.  _ Be quiet, boy.” The man snapped, terse and commanding, “You do as he asks. I am sorry, but this is the way it is.” he whispered back with a sharp bite to his tone before turning his own back to the headboard, shuffling into place as he dropped Alexander’s body to the bed. It bounced once before he could recover with an exhale of impact. He was on his belly now with basically no way to get up efficiently with his tied wrists and thighs. 

The sniper scoffed in offended shock. As he lifted his face from the mattress, hair tousled around his cheeks, he tossed it, some strands sticking to his tongue in his mouth. So Thomas and Lafayette really _ were _ working together to dominate him? And Alexander had actually thought he’d get some input through the softer man, get a say in when he finally gets fucked. Apparently not. 

He spat a bit, trying to get the hair out of his mouth, but there were already hands under his armpits again. His bare belly and sensitive nipples rubbed against the sheets as he was dragged forth across the bed up to Lafayette’s lap. The larger man huffed, shifting into place and straightening out his knees on the bed. He sat with his back up to the cold wood of the headboard, legs parted just enough for Alex to lay between them. The kid bent one of his legs up, trying to find a way to get up off his belly, but he just rubbed his smooth leg up against Lafayette’s unshaven calf, to which the older just pulled him even closer and let go, replacing a hand on his cock to give it slow strokes.

When Alex lifted his face, his temple brushed against Lafayette’s length. It surprised him, and he stopped grunting and trying to roll onto his side when he noticed the cock right in front of his face, so close he had to cross his eyes because, whoah. That was a mouth-watering dick… 

To be fair, he  _ did  _ have permission. He moved a bit closer, still a tad mesmerized. 

“Fuck…” Alexander breathed, mouth open wide with his lips just touching the shaft, breathing on it. Lafayette exhaled deeply, letting go his hand to bury it up in Alex’s thick hair, far gentler than Thomas did. The driver, on the other hand, shrugged off his suit jacket, already bare from waist down. 

“ _ Now,  _ Alexander. Nobody asked for your bullshit.” he warned, and Alex wiggled closer, cock pressed up against his cheek, warm and firm before he moved his face, manipulating it towards his mouth. Thanks to the restraints, he panted a bit now at the strain of writhing so much. The teenager started down at the very base, licking around it in quick, lapping strokes and leaving a wet spot of saliva with each one.    
“Yeah…” Lafayette breathed, hand still gently on the top of his head, not guiding him at all as the wet sounds slicked in the room. 

Alex tasted the same tangy aftertaste of soap that he had with Thomas not long ago as he worked his way hastily up the shaft in long, hot licks, using his entire tongue as he did so. The veins provided an added texture onto his tongue that he explored curiously, tracing them with the tip of his pink tongue. Lafayette’s chest rose and fell deeply before him, reclining back a bit more so that his cock was hard on his muscular belly. Alex followed, popping onto the tip. He felt it twitch in his mouth before he moved up and down just an inch, getting the feel of it. 

While he was working, Thomas strode slowly around the foot of the bed, lurking. He was bare now, displaying his tanned and toned muscles, his superior height. He took his sweet time to watch Alexander’s effort, more than ready to give orders. 

“Down your throat, Alexander. I don’t wanna see that one-inch crap from you. You know better.” he critiqued, placing a hand on the bedpost as he turned the corner, slowly coming up on the side of the bed. Lafayette was staring at Alexander’s curly lips stretched out around his sufficient girth, getting down three inches before pulling off again, narrowly avoiding a gag. Thomas watched carefully, Lafayette’s loose hand in his hair, his one bent up leg, leisurely and casual like he was lounging on the beach. 

“And Gilbert.” Thomas addressed, raising his chin as the blue gaze met his own across the bed, “He doesn’t know how to not use teeth yet. He’s an amateur.” the raven-haired man explained with a shrug, climbing up onto the bed. Alex scowled across at Thomas from where he lay, peeking over Lafayette’s hip. 

“I am not, you asshole.” 

“Xander…” Lafayette whisper-warned more for Alexander’s sake, knowing that Thomas was going to do something now. The dominant was on the bed now, looming over both of them and standing up on his knees. For a terrifying moment, Alexander and Thomas made eye contact. They locked into place, Alexander’s heart thudding heavily in his chest, his adrenaline running high in his veins.   
“Move your hand.” he jerked his head, and Lafayette hesitantly lifted it from Alexander’s small head not a second before Thomas’s tan knuckles had hair wrapped around them. The boy snarled a gargling growl of pain at the clenching, but Thomas was busy. Lips screwed up, he moved Alex’s head above Lafayette’s cock, positioning it above the tip before he shoved him down on it. 

Alex’s body convulsed, muscles spasming with a gag that rang in the bedroom.

“ _ Dieu... _ ” Lafayette spat, his knee that was propped up twitching at the sensation. Thomas stood up on his knees and had plunged Alex’s head down onto Lafayete’s cock, forcing him six inches down the shaft.    
“How dare you _ ever  _ talk to me like that? It’s like you don’t learn or something, Alexander; it’s pathetic.” He snarled, lifting Alexander’s head off of the member and holding his head up by the hair. A string of saliva connected the head and his wet lips, glistening in the light. Veins popping on his neck, Alexander barked a violent cough, panting heavily and pulling against his chains. 

“You’re a fucking amateur, you worthless little shit. You know why?” Thomas popped the head past his lips once more, the saliva sticking to his chin and wetting it as he pushed down, forcing Alex to take the whole length this time, and he  _ choked _ , brows turned upwards as tears pricked the corners of his eyes.

“That’s why.” Thomas curled his lip in disgust and scoffed, holding him down there, his nose pressed to Lafayette’s belly hissing in breath as quickly as he could get it. 

“Mm.  _ Mm! _ ” His gag reflex kicked violently once again, body jerking once before he writhed, trying to pull off. The hot flutter of his throat against Lafayette’s cock made the man groan deeply, foot flexing in pleasure at the tightness. Finally, Thomas pulled him off and released his hair roughly, watching him sputter and cough. Lafayette’s cock fell back to his belly, glistening wet now, and Alexander’s chin was soaked to match. He collapsed his head down to the bed, leaned up against Lafayette’s thigh as he breathed.

“Hahhh… Hah….” The boy panted, still gasping for breath and coughing at the tickling sensation in his throat. 

“ _ Bon dieu… _ ” Lafayette puffed an exhale and then sniffed, running a brief hand over his face, “Fuck, Toma… When he hums…” the man reached down between his legs, one hand lazily stroking his own cock and the other to brush over Alex’s red cheek. Thomas took a moment to watch, giving his own hard length a few strokes and letting him recover. Alex would need it. 

Casually, his eyes drifted down towards his prize... Alexander’s ass looked so cute when he was laid on his belly, shapely and tight with that little dimple on the left cheek. Thomas extended a hand to cup it, kneading softly, so supple and smooth. It was definitely time to start thinking of getting in there before everyone got too antsy. 

Thomas lifted his knee, careful not to step on Alexander as he placed it on his other side, straddling over his ass. He pressed his shaft up against the crack, letting him know that he was there as he exhaled deeply, leaning down to place a hand on either side of Lafayette's thighs on the bed, casting the man a glance.    
“I’m going to open him up now. Don’t cum.” he ordered the Frenchman with a dark glane before bending his head down to Alex’s level, the side still resting against Lafayette’s leg. 

“You.” he addressed with a grumbling whisper, “Don’t cum from my fingers.” he shook his head, “I don’t want to have to punish you for that, alright. Don’t make me. And I want you to be a good boy for your company and suck on his cock.” Thomas pressed a hot kiss to Alexander’s temple, no tongue, just a kiss, “Can you do that for me?” he mumbled, lips on his skin as he spoke, and he felt the kid nod. 

“Mhm.” he basically whimpered, still catching his breath from his previous punishment, and Thomas kissed him again, lifting a palm off the bed to lightly stroke the back of his hand down between Alex’s warm shoulder blades, causing him to shiver. 

“Good boy, Allie. See what happens when we behave? Good boy...” he planted another hot kiss where his hand had been, trailing them down his spine as his hand paved the way, dipping into the small of his back and holding there, feeling him breathe as he grunted and sat back up, walking his knees backwards so that he sat down on his own heels in position in front of his ass. 

“Gil, reach above you on the headboard. I set the lube there, and he’s gonna need a shitload of it…” he grumbled, placing both hands on Alexander’s ass. They looked positively huge on it; it was a wonder how four fingers fit. Thomas watched Lafayette’s chest stretch out as he reached over his head, nails scraping the wall and groping down the ledge for the lube until he found it. He almost knocked it over, but he caught it swiftly and tossed it across to Thomas who snatched it out of the air with impeccable reflexes and a smack in his palm. He uncapped it with his thumbnail, pursing his lips and gesturing to Alex’s ass with the bottle.

“Spread his legs. He should always have them spread.” Thomas sniffed, letting Lafayette use his feet to dig up under Alex’s knees, pulling them wide apart so that Thomas could kneel between them, his cock rubbing painfully and dryly on the sheets beneath him. Alex groaned for the first time, flexing and curling his toes in need of stimulation. Could he hump the bed without Thomas noticing? Thomas turned over the bottle. 

“Oh, stop whining.” he shamed with a disgusted scoff, taking a glance at Lafayette’s cock, “And what did I say you should be doing right now? Huh?” he asked firmer the second time, squeezing a generous amount of the slick substance into his left hand, clear and unscented. Alexander glowered, irritated and so ready for any kind of stimulation as he blew a strand of hair frustratedly out of his eyes.    
“Sucking his cock.” he monotoned with an obnoxious attitude.   
“His cock….?”   
“Sir.”   
For a moment Thomas paused, waiting for obedience, the room silent. 

“Then why aren’t you doing jack-shit, moron?” he barked, and Alex jumped, scared out of his wits as he leapt towards Lafayette’s cock, immediately starting his task. Thomas just looked to the ceiling for a moment.   
“Jesus Christ, it’s like talking to a fucking wall with you. Dumb bitch...” Thomas sneered under his breath, shaking his head as he rubbed his hands together, lathering up his fingers with the cool, viscous gel. Thomas could hear the clicking sound of wetness, the back of Alexander’s throat on Lafayette’s cock for only two seconds before he gagged deeply, shuddering and pulling off to nurse on the tip while he recovered. 

A part of Alex wished that his gag reflex wasn’t so strong, but the pain was worth it… His reward was the taste, the hot, throbbing veins on his tongue and corners of his mouth.

“Hhhh…” Lafayette sighed, replacing his hand in Alex’s hair and bunching it up. His skull fell back against the headboard with a quiet thump, eyes closed in pleasure. Thomas turned the bottle of lube over, eyeing Lafayette and the place where he and Alexander were meeting. 

“His mouth feel good, Gilbert?” he questioned, and the man just parted his lips to exhale deeply. Nobody on the face of the planet was more vocal than Alexander, but Lafayette was more vocal than Thomas was. 

“ _ Ouais…”  _ he responded, and when Alexander pulled off, a tiny bead of precum pearled from the slit.    
“On his face. Yeah.” Thomas approved, watching Lafatte take his cock in hand and lazily rub the head across Alexander’s cheek, smearing the clear liquid on it before he guided the shaft back to Alexander’s lips. He raised up his arm to settle leisurely behind his own head, abs expanding and contracting whilst Alexander struggled to give him head.

Alex could taste the bitter tang when he licked back on, the soaked head slipping back into his mouth. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to come down as far as he could manage, gargling, but pushing himself, the texture of the wiry veins stimulating his lips. 

He thought he was doing decently before a stinging coldness jarred him with a start. 

He yelped and clenched his ass where the chilliness was, lifting off far too quickly and scraping his front teeth all the way up Lafayette’s shaft, making the man snarl like a lion and jerk his legs, pressing against Alexander’s sides. 

“ _ Mon Dieu!  _ Fuck--” he brought his hand down from behind his head, panting and bunching up, wrinkling the sheets for a moment. At the same time, Thomas spoke over him, creating a chorus of negative reactions. 

“Whoah, whoah, whoah, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Thomas spoke to Alex, who tried to turn his head over his shoulder. Thomas scowled down at him, holding the lube a foot above his ass. Apparently, he had squeezed some down right onto his entrance, and shocked the hell out of him. Thomas shook his head and scoffed at him. 

“A little tip for you, bitch: if you want him to fuck you, he needs to still have a cock.” 

Alex turned back to Lafayette, who pet his head, settling down from the immediate pain.    
“Be careful, boy. I don’t want to see you in trouble.” he gestured with his eyes at Thomas, who was continuing what he had started after rolling his eyes. 

“Tell it to him, French-boy.” Alex scoffed disrespectfully as Thomas lowered his four fingers to slowly rub the lube around his tight ring, slicking it down, “Not me.”

But his voice was cut off by Thomas’s. The man didn’t address him; he addressed Lafayette. Lips parted, he looked from Alex to the Frenchman. For a moment, he stopped, the pads fingers resting just over his hole, warm and tantalizingly close. 

“Did he just talk back to you?” he asked as if stuck in shock, a bit of a whisper. Lafayette glanced down at Alex again, unsure of if he should tell the truth or not. If he should protect the kid from Thomas’s wrath. The tension mounted in his indecision. He had waited too long. 

“I asked you a question,  _ did  _ he just talk back to you, Gilbert?” he growled, his voice morbidly serious.

The man sputtered, “Yes.” 

Alexander bit his lip and cringed, aware of what was coming his way and both dreading and yearning for it simultaneously. On seeing the dark look in Thomas’s eyes, Lafayette brought out the firmer tone in his voice. 

“Only for a moment, Toma.” he shook his head, making eye contact, but Thomas’s gaze said it all. 

“Gilbert, lay him on your chest and hold him down.” His voice was cool and controlled, not a single hint of discomposure in his tone. Alexander’s heart leaped a beat in his chest; he knew that tone. It was the one Thomas always used the moment before he took power, when he quietly ordered Alex to get ready for a whipping. 

“Toma--”   
“On your chest. Hold him under his arms.” Thomas watched, supervising carefully with a raised chin as Lafayette bent forward, damp abs flexing as he buried his hands under Alex’s small armpits, hoisting him forward so that when he laid down Alex’s head was up on his chest. 

Their bodies contrasted against each other, Alexander’s tiny smooth belly rubbing against the coarse hair of Lafayette’s muscular frame. They could feel one another breathe, feel the heat of skin-on-skin. Lafayette hooked his elbows underneath Alex’s arms, holding him there as Thomas had asked. 

For a few moments of silence, Thomas just rubbed his fingers over the slickness of his entrance, tracing the area lightly. Alexander bit his lip harder, stifling a tiny whimper as he twitched. The whole room was quiet, holding its breath. 

Only Lafayette saw as Thomas slowly…. gradually raised his hand, face completely straight and staring directly at Alexander’s ass. The Frenchman pursed his lips and slowly shook his head. 

“Toma--”   
_ Thwap. _

Alexander roared, clenching his ass and thighs and wrenching on top of Lafayette. Thomas had reeled back and spanked him across the ass harder than he’d ever been slapped before. The red mark was immediate, raw and stinging, shooting pain all the way to his back and hamstrings. Ass still squeezed, Thomas placed his hands on each cheek, feeling them as he spoke, the teen trembling beneath him.   
“One more, Alexander.” 

The kid whimpered, squirming his feet on the sheets slowly. “You need to be thinking long and hard about what your purpose is right about now.” 

He rubbed his hand deeply and slowly over the red finger marks, making them smart like a motherfucker, and Alex moaned. Genuinely moaned. Lafayette blinked in shock at that reaction, craning down at the pained lust painted all over the kid’s face. He gritted his teeth, panting, and growled when Thomas brought his hand down again, following through neatly with an expert hit that rang through the room, cracking against his skin. 

“Augh!” Alexander cried out, and dug his nails into the leather of his own thigh cuffs, desperate to hold something. Mind spinning a bit, he only heard Lafayette’s growl because he was laying his head directly over his chest. 

“That is quite enough, Toma.” The man snapped tersely, voice vibrating against Alex’s ear. The boy felt tears prick at the corner of his eyes, ass throbbing in the air already. He couldn’t stifle a teary whimper.

“I know when enough is enough; I’m his Dom, Gilbert, not you." he spat, "He can handle the consequences of his actions, so when I say two, he gets two.” Thomas responded, but Alex hardly heard. His face was buried in Lafayette’s shoulder.    
“He doesn’t like it.” 

“Like hell he doesn’t, Gilbert.” Thomas snarled obviously, and Alex could sense the growing tension once more. The tempers beginning to rise.    
“Then back…” Lafayette, slid his hands down Alex’s ribs, wrapping his arms slowly around his little body, one cradling the back of his neck, “Off.” he finished, never lowering his eyes. 

For a long minute, Thomas just stared at him, hands on Alex’s ass with Gilbert's arms wrapped around his middle. Alex tried to move, but two men on him was too much restraint. Finally, Thomas pursed his lips and bobbed his head.    
“Alright. Get out.” he clipped, and Lafayette’s blonde brows immediately swooped down.    
“ _ Je suis désolé, quoi?”  _

“You heard me perfectly fine. Get up. You’re done.” He curled his large, tan hands around Alexander's sharp hip bones and pulled, forcing Lafayette to let go of him. The older of the men pushed himself up with his heels, sheets wrinkling and rustling as he sat up and leaned against the headboard, palms on the mattress. 

“Wh--”   
Thomas whipped his head to Lafayette, “Until the  _ second  _ I say otherwise,  _ Gilbert,  _ you can stand right there and watch if you want to question how I take care of my own submissive.” he scoffed, pulling Alexander up against his body in a protective embrace, unintentionally rubbing his raw ass on the bed so that he grimaced, pulling against the wrist cuffs. The man tossed his head towards the edge of the bed, Lafayette still not moving from his place. 

“You literally have until the count of three…” Thomas warned, and Lafayette finally curled his lip, turning his body on the bed.

“Do not patronize me, Toma.” he sneered, swinging his legs off and following Thomas’s command. 

“Yeah? Do not test  _ me. _ ” He spat right back, watching Lafayette slide down the edge and set his feet on the floor before turning his attention to Alexander. Thomas reached around in front of him to unclip his leash and toss it to the floor, hearing the bolt snap hit the carpeted ground with a thump. With one large hand, he glided his palm down Alex’s chest, holding him to his body. 

“Lay on your back for me, baby boy.” he kissed the top of his shoulder as he spoke, still eyeing Lafayette indiscreetly, who leaned quietly up against the side of the headboard,  _ not  _ looking too happy. Alexander, meanwhile, was too horny to be sane. 

“Fuck, you’re so selfish, Thomas…” Alex tilted his face up, opening his mouth wide in hopes that Thomas might kiss him or lick his tongue. Thomas telling Lafayette off for questioning his authority only turned Alexander on to a painful degree… and made Thomas even more attractive if that was humanly possible. Thomas, unfortunately, only flicked his tongue over Alex’s, not even closing his mouth on his. Alex’s heart sank, and he closed his mouth in disappointment, savoring the taste of Thomas’s spit while it lasted.

“Watch your dirty mouth. On your back, my pain-slut. Open your legs so I can stretch you out for me.” He shifted in the sheets, twirling his finger to signal that Alex should turn around, and he tried his best without being able to use his hands very well. When he was facing Thomas, he leaned back on his elbows, sinking down into the mattress. 

“Mhm. All the way down.” Thomas’s hand on his belly was gentle, but it firmly pressed him down to the bed, before trailing down, pulling his thighs apart so that the kid's knees rested on his own shoulders, legs bent. He pulled him a bit closer on the bed, sliding him down the sheets so that his hair splayed out like a halo around his head, and he parted his lips, cock twitching on his belly.    
“Quickly, Thomas.”   
“Not your decision.” The man grumbled, “I didn’t ask you to talk. And don’t call me Thomas.” he stood up on his knees, gliding three fingers down over his entrance to tease, not applying any pressure. Nevertheless, Alexander smiled helplessly like a happy puppy, squeezing his eyes shut and letting his head fall to the side. He wiggled his legs just a bit, rolling his ankles in delight.

“Sensitive?” Thomas asked rhetorically and rhythmically rubbed up and down, slicking the lube over and over again. He cast a glance to Lafayette, who watched silently with his arms crossed, a dark look over his brow. His cock was painfully hard by the way it was blushing deep red, but the driver couldn’t give any less fucks. Thomas kept staring at him when he carefully, slowly pressed his fore and index fingers inside of Alex at the same time. 

The boy gasped and whined, showing his vocal side almost immediately as he gripped the sheets on either side of him, nails scratching on the fabric. Alex’s back instantly arched off the bed.

Lafayette growled under his breath, whispering something in French before pretending to look away in indignation, which only amused the Dom. Thomas just pumped his fingers slowly before stopping and shaking them, vibrating them violently with practiced expertise.    
“Ohh-h-h! Fuhh…” Alex almost moaned the curse, but Thomas stopped the rapid motion to pump again, scissoring. The teen was impossibly tight. It almost didn’t seem fair. 

“Shame. Would’ve let you help.” Thomas shrugged, not even looking at Lafayette as he added a finger from his other hand, tilting his head in concentration as he hooked and pulled, gently widening Alex up for him. Alex’s eyes snapped open,

“Oh, oh, wow, okay wow.” Alexander gasped with a different breath for each word, lifting his head up from the bed to watch Thomas’s fingers work efficiently inside of him, back slapping down to the bed again.

“ahhm… Ugh!”

When Thomas pushed all three inside, Alexander’s head fell back down to the bed; his toes curled and he hitched a squeal. A little too much, he clenched up. 

“Relax, Allie.” Thomas warned, halting the motion and waiting for Alexander to ease his muscles before he continued again, almost finished, “That’s good. It’s almost over; suck it up.” he informed, vibrating his fingers and shaking them inside the tightness once again, feeling it ease up, “There we go. You want my cock, bitch?” he asked, and Alexander was not expecting that question so soon. 

He breathed quickly and spread his legs even further like a whore to answer, eager and needy. Thomas let go of him to stroke his own cock, slicking the lube over his shaft as well. Alexander whimpered when he left him empty, pining for so much more… 

He couldn't stay empty for much longer before he acted up and started rubbing on something. The stimulation after all this wait felt heavenly, but couldn’t contain his desperation half as good as Thomas did. The man kept stroking it as he walked forwards on his knees, gliding his thumb over the swollen head to spread the precum that had already collected there while he stared down on Alexander.    
“I asked you a question.”   
“Yes, sir.” Alex responded clearly, nodding his head a bit too readily, “Yes sir.” he repeated again, and Thomas shrugged nonchalantly. 

“Not convinced.” he stroked his cock slowly, massaging it at an even slower pace. Alex just blinked, getting frustrated with Thomas’s lollygagging at this point. 

“The fuck do you mean, ‘you’re not conv--” Thomas sat up and leaned over the boy, placing a hand on either side of his head. The sheer size difference was mind-boggling.    
“Hey. First of all what the hell kind of tone do you think you’re using with me? Cut it out before I do it for you.” he sneered, and Alexander bared his teeth directly below him. Thomas only did the same, displaying his characteristically sharp canines. 

“Don’t try it with me.” he snarled down at him, “And to answer your question,  _ slut,  _ I’m not convinced that you want it enough.” he looked over to Lafayette, and Alex followed his glance, collar pulling at his neck. 

“If you don’t want it, I have no problem, Allie. He and I will jerk each other off and get dressed. Make you sit in your clothes and watch while we cum and you don’t for another day.” he shrugged, turning his face back to Alex, who swallowed in his shadow, obviously weighing his options as he squirmed slowly, still searching for stimulation of some sort. 

Thomas shook his head, “Your pleasure means nothing to me, whore, in fact, I  _ like  _ watching you desperate and horny with nothing to do about it except uselessly thrust your cock into nothing.” At those words, Alexander immediately stopped his little movements, cock twitching on his belly again. 

“I wasn’t--”   
“Yes you were.” Thomas cut him off snappishly and lifted a hand to grab the bottom of Alexander’s chin, holding his cheeks and diffing his fingers in just a tiny bit. His chin was still wet from sucking Lafayette’s cock, his own spit. Alex’s eyes widened when he felt Thomas pressed the round, swollen head of his cock to his tight ring of muscle, slipping a bit in the slickness of the lube. 

Alexander’s muscles twitched, and he immediately squirmed a bit closer, just enough to rub it up and down half an inch. It didn’t provide much for either man, but at this point Alexander needed anything he could get. Thomas just raised his brows down at him. 

“You’re a disgrace.” he whispered, feeling Alexander trying to rub on him. Thomas gave Lafayette a sideways glance, the man slowly and menacingly gliding his hand up and down his cock.    
“You see what this little shit is doing?” he asked the man, just to shame Alexander whose face  _ burned _ . 

Lafayette tossed his head in acknowledgement, playing with himself as he watched Alex's desperation, and Thomas returned his glance to Alex, peering down on that young face. He was hot and bothered; his cheeks flushed with both humiliation, arousal, and exhaustion; and his eyes showing nothing but desperation. A plea for pity and a cock in his ass. Thomas cocked his head. 

“Do you want it?” he drawled, and Alex nodded frantically, parting his lips for a groan when Thomas pressed harder.    
“Then beg.” Thomas’s voice was low and dark. The way he said it sent chills up Alexander’s spine, and goosebumps raised on his arms. 

“ _ Beg me, _ Alexander.” he spat harshly, gripping his face tighter between his fingers, and this time, Alex made a noise similar to a sob. There were no tears showing yet, but his eyes did seem a little more shiny than usual. He sniffed, and it was obvious that it was wet.

“Make me…” Thomas’s lip twitched in relish, “give it to you.” 

Suddenly, all of the waiting, all of the bated arousal and the spanking and the exhausting cock-sucking came crashing down on him. He screwed up his face into a pitiful expression, whimpering in defeat as he finally cracked. Finally broke down.    
“I want it.” he sniffled again, opening his eyes below upturned brows to show that they were indeed glistening now with a sheen of saltwater. Thomas shrugged and frowned in an unaffected way. 

“I don’t care.” he blinked slowly, extremely unimpressed, “And you’re gonna need me to care if you wanna get fucked.” 

“Thomas--sir.” Alexander tried again, trying to lift his hands and hold Thomas’s face, but to his devastation they were still chained, jangling and clanking, and he wallowed in frustration. Instead, he just spread his legs as far as they could go, hoping to get the message through. 

“Please…  _ please  _ fuck me now. Please…Now.” his voice cracked, and he cleared it, casting a glance to Lafayette in hopes that he wasn’t watching or something. He didn’t want his boss to see him wrecked like this. Begging for cock like a whore. But Lafayette was watching. _Oh,_ was he watching and taking in every bit of Alexander's humiliating self-degradation.

“Eyes on me. Don’t look at him.” Thomas snipped shortly, wrenching his face so that his eyes were right on his own, “He’s not coming near you until I say so. Until you beg your daddy properly.” 

Alexander’s heart just overloaded at the sound of Thomas calling himself his daddy, and his head fell back, tears threatening at the corners now, pricking and tingling. He breathed in deeply, unsteadily, trying not to cry. It was amazing how these things made it happen, and how difficult it was for him to stop or control it. He exhaled a dangerously shaky breath, finding Thomas's expectant eyes. 

“Daddy…” he addressed, and Thomas slowly dipped his head closer, prompting him like a professor to go on. Alex tried once again to touch him, but it only pulled at his thighs, and he gave up. 

“My purpose… is…” he swallowed a huge lump and went on, “To please you. I--” he swallowed yet again through the frustrated tears blurring his eyes, struggling to hold it down, “I’m begging you.”   
“Good…” Thomas coaxed, pressing the tip harder against him, rocking his weight on his palms in approval. Alexander nodded, blinking the first two, fat tears down from the corners of his eyes, running warmly down his temples and into his hair, dampening it. 

“Please let me have your cock. Please…” 

“Who do you belong to, Alexander?” The question caught Alex off guard… but he answered it without ever having to think about it for a second. It just… happened.    
“You--you, Thomas.” 

“Speak up. Full sentences.” Thomas had heard him. He had heard him fine. Yet he asked him again, stroking his thumb over his cheek where there was still a tiny wet spot of Lafayette’s precum   
“Who do you belong to?” 

“I belong to you, Thomas… I belong…” Alex finally hitched a sob, tears spilling down into his hair in a new batch, “Fuck…” he broke down, unable to handle the shame. The shame of Lafayette seeing how Thomas got him, how Thomas could ruin him and break him down to nothing but a slave to his bidding. It was another level of humiliation. It was heinously cruel. Thomas nodded his head, eyes on Alexander’s beautiful face. 

“That’s right. You belong to me. That’s right.” he affirmed, feeling Alexander wrack another sob beneath him. Lafayette piped up from beside Thomas. 

“For God’s sake, man, look at him.” he scowled, French accent rolling through the room, “He is weeping, and you are not going to stop.”    
“ _ He’s  _ crying because he wants it. Not because he doesn’t.” Thomas explained impatiently, “For the last time, I know what he needs, and I know how to handle the boy. And get your dirty hand away from your cock; I never said you could touch that shit.” 

Thomas pushed the tip into Alexander, who wailed, not suspecting the entry without a warning. His hole stretched to the apparent max, stinging. The kid slammed down his ankles onto Thomas’s shoulders with a smack of sweaty skin, clenching up before they slipped right off and thumped back down to the bed. He dug his heels deep into the mattress. Thomas was too occupied with Lafayette and Alex’s wrist cuffs to acknowledge his screams. As the man spoke to his trainer, he lifted a hand to quickly unchain Alex’s wrists from his thighs, setting him free and letting the chains dangle down in the sheets, still attached to his leather-bound cuffs. 

“You want to fuck something?” Thomas questioned aggressively, sliding deeper into Alexander’s tight walls, hot and intensely stimulating, “Fuck the edge of the bed. That’ll show you what you’re missing out on here.” he snarled, and Alexander haphazardly grappled around for something, searching wildly for something to hold onto as he whimpered and screamed--insanely loud for someone his size who had already been properly loosened. 

“Ahh! Ahh!  _ AaaAA!”  _ he caterwauled, clapping his hands down on the back of Thomas’s neck--the only thing he could reach--and  _ clawing _ him. He didn’t mean to do so, but he couldn’t help it; his nails dug into the man’s flesh and left red trails following. He was so stuffed, so impossibly full with his partner almost completely inside of him, his walls constricted around his cock. Thomas was only propelled by the stinging pain and snarled, pulling out and pounding his hips back in again with a smack of skin.

“Look in my eyes, you little cockslut.” Thomas spat quietly, lowering down to his elbows so that he could fuck him harder and deeper when he so decided. Lafayette, meanwhile, scowled at him, ready to raise his voice.    
“The edge of  _ la literie?”  _ he scoffed, shaking his head, “That will do nothing.” 

“Oh, it’ll give you something,” Thomas grunted, teeth gritted at the kid clutching and clinging to the base of his hair that he had found blindly with his fingers, “just not enough.” 

Alexander sobbed heavily in an overwhelming mix of pain and pleasure, wrapping his legs up around Thomas’s strong hips now that he was close enough and letting his head fall to the side. He searched for a moment, nuzzling deeply into the sheets before he found a loose spot and bit down, leaving wet bite marks where he held a wad of sheet in his mouth. He growled around it, shaking with every thrust. 

Thomas tossed his head, observing carefully as the Frenchman lowered his gaze to the edge of the bed, stepping closer. 

“ _ Homme méprisable.”  _ he spat under his breath, placing both palms on the bedding and shifting his weight, sliding his blushing cock up to the corner. Thomas wasn’t breathing heavily yet, still thrusting at an even pace into Alexander, who was losing his damn mind with long-staved-off pleasure. 

“Gilbert... Watch.” he commanded, all eyes on the man, head turned his way as he moved his hips attractively, pounding with excellent ab and back muscles for perfect pace. The boy beneath him looked so small, he was almost covered completely by Thomas.

“Watch. Don’t even think about looking away.” he growled, and this time--now that he knew Alex was warmed up--he nailed him, screwing his hips in with a violence so precise it was cruel. 

“ _ Fuck! Aafuck!  _ **_Thomas!_ ** _ ”  _ Alexander moaned like a little bitch in response, groping his hands down to Thomas’s back and smacking them down. He could feel the sweaty warmth of his body, the taut muscles rolling beneath as he dug his nails into his skin and clambered. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried desperately to match Thomas’s pace, rocking himself on the bed into the hips that slammed him hard enough to leave red marks on his ass. 

For once, Thomas didn’t mind that Alex wasn’t making eye contact, because he was still staring point-blank into Lafayette’s deep, blue eyes. Forcing him to watch and make unwavering eye-contact as he pounded the boy they had fought over. Thomas did, however, have to keep his own arousal in check. He had always been one for stimulation-delay and denial. And now Lafayette’s nearly-purple, leaking head was rubbing slowly up and down on the sheets, the dry, climaxless stimulation that probably tingled but nothing more. 

The precum stained the grey sheets that he was humping in long thrusts, just the bottom of his cock brushing on the bed. The veins on his cock were popping now at the frustrating friction, obviously throbbing with need as he watched. Watched the place where Thomas was sliding in and out of Alex at a rapid pace, unrelenting and glistening with lube. It was… undeniably hot to watch. And both Alexander and Thomas could agree that it was even hotter to  _ be  _ watched.

By the time five minutes had passed, Thomas’s tan, muscular back and shoulders were destroyed with scratch-marks. Deep and red, they criss crossed and slid all the way down his ribs when Alex had accidentally slipped off and clawed back on, latching with his pointy little nails. Now, his skin throbbed and burned when he kissed Alexander deeply--not the first time he had done so. 

“Shh-h-h.” Thomas hushed, but Alexander just wailed a moan right into his mouth, tears still spilling down into the sopping sides of his hair. Thomas had checked three times exactly that Alexander was enjoying and wasn’t presenting signs of the safeword or gesture, but the tears were purely… lusty gratification. It was an astounding phenomenon. 

Thomas closed his eyes and thrusted in, holding his cock there with added pressure as he devoured Alexander’s mouth in a slow dance of tongues, forcing him to stifle his cry. Alex panted, belly rising and falling wildly against Thomas’s while he nursed and lapped at the man’s tongue, trying to find his way down to earth. Thomas let Alexander taste him, a substantial amount of spit dipping into Alex’s mouth. Finally, Thomas pulled out, making Alexander’s head slam back down on the mattress, bouncing his head once with flinging hair when he whimpered pitifully. Thomas leaned down and whispered something to him, using a thumb to wipe the tears off of each of his wet temples and corners of his eyes before he sat back up on his knees, sheets rustling. 

He puffed a deep exhale, breathing heavily now. He sat back on his heels, turning his head to Lafayette as he tossed the sweaty hair out of his eyes, lifting an arm to run his hand through his dark, damp mane. 

“How you feeling?” he rumbled, and Lafayette--who had lowered down to his elbows three minutes ago to hump deeper, still slowly dry humping the bed--stopped. His braid thumbed against his collarbone, and he rubbed a hand down his face, wiping the sweat. 

“What is the word in English... ‘shortchanged’.”

“You want to fuck him now?” Thomas carefully lowered Alex’s smooth legs down to the bed, watching him raise his arms to cover his face--dry it and brush the hair away as he heaved for breath. 

“I’ll let you if you let me take care of my own damn submissive.”    
“Fine. Alright, just--” Lafayette waved his fingers to appease him, shaking his head, “I will. Just let me make love to him, Toma.” 

Thomas snorted lightly under his breath at the ridiculous phrase as he bent down, wrapping his arms firmly around Alexander’s body to hoist him up with a grunt, lifting him from the bed. 

“Come up here.” he ordered Lafayette, who shifted his weight on the floor, lifting from his position up to stand and swing a knee gracefully up onto the bed, bouncing it. Alexander, meanwhile, clinged to Thomas, his chin hooked over the man’s warm shoulder, legs wrapped around his torso. He was far,  _ far  _ into subspace, and he clutched to Thomas like he was the only thing in the universe that was real, like he depended on him for survival. 

Thomas kissed the side of his neck, deeply impressed with how well-behaved he was being for the second half of their session.    
“I want you to answer now, Allie.” he murmured as he kissed him again, walking on his knees towards where Lafayette was now sitting, deeply jerking his shaft in his left hand. 

“Do you think you can take both of us at the same time?” 

Alexander physically shuddered with lust in his arms, and weakly grinded against his abs, “Please.” was his only response, “I can. Try me.” 

His arrogance was never truly gone, but at least he was using good manners, Thomas thought. The cock pressed between their bellies twitched, and Thomas could feel it throbbing against him. It was about time. But he’d pass him off to Lafayette first. 

“Gil. Lay on your back and fuck him from behind.” he came up to him, tossing his chin to signal what Lafayette should do as he handed off Alex to the seated man, “I’m going to keep loosening him up so he can take two cocks.”

“He can’t take two cocks.” Lafayette answered dismissively and shortly, without a doubt in his mind as he placed Alexander in his lap, the boy placing his hand down on Lafayette’s thighs above his knees and toying with the hair. 

“Yes I can.” He answered over his shoulder, but Thomas shook his head.    
“Allie, hold your tongue.” he ordered shortly, receiving a scowl that he ignored, the cock-drunk good-behavior already wearing off. 

“I’ll be the judge of what he can handle. Alright.” he met Lafayette’s azure irises, waiting for an answer with raised brows for a long moment. 

Lafayette pursed his lips and shook his head in silent disagreement as he reclined, scooting forward on the bed so that he had room and laying down. Alex followed, held to his chest with a large, gentle hand. He whispered something to him in French that the boy obviously wouldn’t understand, but Thomas dipped his head, sitting back on his own heels. 

“Kiss him, Lafs. He’ll need it.” he grumbled, and watched, carefully monitoring Lafayette reach around his own thigh to position his cock over Alexander’s entrance, tapping three times with the head so that he knew he was there. Alex made a dirty noise of approval, tilting his head back on Lafayette’s shoulder to kiss him, mouth wide open and tongue sticking out. 

A little shot of envy sliced through Thomas, but he quickly reminded himself that he did approve of this. Alexander rose and fell gently on Lafayette’s body, once again humbled in size above the pale, muscular body of his senior boss. Lafayette placed a light kiss to the flat of his tongue before gently licking it back into his mouth whilst he slowly…. Slowly eased Alexander’s ass down onto his thick shaft, hand still guiding it in. Alexander immediately began to pant, toes curling as he whimpered shrilly. 

“Oh, oh, Lafs.” he gasped into Lafayette’s mouth as it went in, the texture of the veins stimulating the hole that was still ready from Thomas’s cock. Same wide girth, he felt himself stretching once again to the max, full and stuffed and completed. He needed something else to hold onto now, so he went for Lafayette’s thighs on the outside of his own, hooking his fingers under his knees.

“ _ Bon garçon.  _ Good boy.” Lafayette praised quietly as he bottomed out, feeling Alexander finally relax his muscles, panting on top of him as he began to move, sliding inside of him with the help of the significant amounts of lube Thomas had left there. 

Lafayette groaned deeply, one arm on the bed for support and the other hand cupped softly over Alexander’s thickly collared throat, holding onto the leather with his forearm slung across his tiny chest. 

“Ohh…” The man exhaled loudly over Alexander's considerable moaning, the ridge of his cock pressing against his prostate and rubbing it with each thrust, “You’re so tight,  _ petite beauté. _ So tight…” 

Thomas rhythmically stroked his own length while he supervised the action, Lafayette using his feet on the bed as leverage to speed up, making Alex’s perky member bounce and rub against his belly, providing the first stimulation he’d get. When Lafayette settled into an even, quick pace, panting, Thomas strode up to Alexander’s side, running a hand up his belly and chest. The driver huffed a mildly amused laugh through his nose at the way Alex pouted and arched his body towards the touch, keening desperately for it. 

“You like it when I make you fuck your boss, hm?” he grumbled, brushing his fingers gently on the middle of Alex’s chest on his sternum, just teasing the skin. It tickled, and Alexander squirmed, digging his nails into Lafayette’s hair-dusted thighs. The kid bobbed, rocked quickly by the rapid thrusts of the Frenchman. 

Thomas twirled his fingers in a lazy circle, making his way towards his nipple, “You like it when I watch?” Alexander choked out a strangled moan, throwing his head back on Lafayette’s shoulder, mouth open as the sound tore out. As it came down, his cheek brushed into Thomas’s cock, bouncing it over his face.

Thomas chuckled, moving it closer, “And here I was, thinking you couldn’t be any more of a fucking  _ slut _ than you already are.” he smiled, rubbing the head across Alex’s tongue sideways, not into his mouth, just across it. Alex panted hotly onto it, the breath tingling as he opened wide, letting Thomas run his shaft back and forth over his pink tongue. 

“It’s going to be amusing, Alexander. Watching you limp.” he smiled as he shamed him, finally brushing his fingertips around his nipple, swirling over the hyper-sensitive erogenous zone. Alex’s abs convulsed, accidentally causing Lafayette’s cock to slip out and rub wetly against Alex’s inner thigh instead. 

“Yeah that’ll be hysterical.” Thomas mused lightly over the thought, “And I’ll watch you wince like a shameful whore. You should be ashamed, Alex. Really, it’s disgusting.” he rocked forwards, dragging the length of his shaft across his mouth, and Alexander tried to close on it, sucking on the side. Lafayette grunted, sitting up a bit to reach around for his cock and ease it back in, panting in deep, fast breaths. 

“Uhh…” he moaned softly when he had slipped it inside and slowly bottomed out, bouncing Alex again and starting his pace. Thomas brushed the pad of his thumb back and forth over Alexander’s nipple, too light not to be cruel, and his eyes rolled up into his head. As soon as Lafayette popped back inside of him, the sniper’s back arched on top of the man, and his hips hitched once. Thomas hadn't expected it to happen so quickly--immediately after receiving the stimulation, but it did. 

“Stop moving right now.” Thomas commanded, moving his hand and his cock away from Alex at the same time, Lafayette was caught off-guard. 

“What?--”   
“He’s about to cum. Don’t let him.” 

And Lafayette held Alex to his body, staying balls deep in him but halting all motion. Heavy breathing was the only sound that came from Lafayette, but Alexander whined obnoxiously, trying to bounce his own ass up and down on Lafayette’s shaft. Unfortunately, since they were both lying flat, there wasn’t much Alex could do on his own, so he just felt the orgasm slip… slip away. He fluttered his knees for a moment, raising a hand to cover his own face and hitch a frustrated sob. 

“Fuck… you…” he managed and sniveled wetly as Thomas lumbered back around.

“Watch your mouth.” Thomas spat, slapping Alexander crisply on the thigh as he passed, making him flinch and gasp. Lafayette held him as he breathed, shaking a bit at the loss.    
“What is it now, Toma?” Lafayette’s voice was nearly a growl, “He needs to orgasm.”

“I know he does; do I look stupid?” Thomas spat, shuffling up close between Lafayette and Alexander’s legs to look at where the swollen cock was deep inside of him, buried in his walls. 

“Give him some movement, Gilbert.” Thomas spoke as he found the lube in the sheets and rotated it, finding the plastic cap to pop it open with a click, “Just a little. Don’t let him cum; I need to open him up more.” 

Thomas sat back on his heels, muscles rippling as he squeezed more cool lube onto his hand and dropped the bottle into the sheets with a thump. He watched Lafayette rub his cock slowly inside of Alexander, only moving an inch or so to help loosen him, relax his muscles. Thomas pursed his lips and sniffed, rubbing his hands together and spreading the lube all over them with a shlicking sound like a doctor.    
“Allie.” he addressed him firmly and professionally, looking up to where he was laid. His ribs flashed with every expanding breath, moaning in a constant flow of sound. Clearly, he wasn’t in any position to be taking orders right now, so it looked like Lafayette would be doing that on Alexander's behalf. 

“Fuck it, he’s not listening.” Thomas sighed, peeking over at the Frenchman, “Spread his legs outside of yours.” Thomas ordered, watching Alex whine and squirm his legs, pulling naughtily against Thomas who was repositioning them roughly by means of the thigh cuffs, overpowering his submissive.

“He knows better; he’s just being a brat.” Thomas huffed, dropping them on the outside of Lafayette, who used his knees to hold Alexander’s thighs open as wide as they could go, putting him on display. 

“Mhm.” Thomas grunted, rubbing his hands together one more time before placing one on Alexander’s upper thigh and extended the other to rub above Lafayette’s cock.    
“Mmm…  _ Hah!”  _ Alex cried out, twitching when Thomas slipped a finger in above Lafayette’s cock. It wasn’t much, but he clenched up instantly. 

“Breathe… relax it.” Thomas warned slowly, raising his voice as he waited to feel Alexander ease up. After five seconds of waiting, he did, and this time he let go of Lafayette’s legs--leaving purple nail-crescents--to hold onto Thomas’s wrist for security. At first, Thomas checked that Alexander was’t trying to push him away, push him out, but it seemed that it was quite the opposite. 

“Greedy slut.” Thomas sneered in false disgust, letting Alexander hold him as he added another finger, making his feet curl.    
“ _ OhhhHHH  _ **_fuck_ ** .” Alexander spat panting like he’d run eight miles on top of Lafayette, who still rubbed his cock carefully inside of him. 

“More.” Alex choked a breathless, strangled word, both hands clamped on Thomas’s wrist and trying to thrust and stuff him himself rhythmically with Thomas's fingers, clawing and scraping to shove him up inside, “More--” he gasped like a helpless bitch in heat, and Thomas scissored his fingers, stretching him. 

“I don’t think so, baby.” Thomas teased, placing a third finger inside when he had made space, causing Alex to wail and clench his thighs tightly on Lafayette’s knees. Thomas looked up at Alex, Lafayette kissing the boy’s neck when he shrugged nonchalantly, “If I give you my cock, you’re going to cum all over yourself. I can’t have that--”

“I won’t.” Alex shook his head frantically, hair flying in Lafayette’s face. The boy tugged at Thomas’s wrist again, basically fucking himself with Thomas’s fingers in desperation. 

“I won’t. I swear to God…  _ Mm! I swear to God.”  _ he started to hitch, but this time it was because the euphoric tears were beginning to flow once more, just the trickle before the deluge. 

“Pathetic.” Thomas spat, positioning his cock in front of Alexander’s hole, but still opening his tight ring with his fingers, stretching and scissoring. 

“Do you hear yourself? Do you even have the slightest idea how much of a repulsive whore you sound like. It’s gross, Alexander.  _ Gross.”  _

Alex just let his head fall back on Lafayette’s shoulder, hair sticking to the man’s neck with sweat. He heaved, and a sob broke out. Thomas just shook his head, pressing the tip to where his fingers were. 

“You should be ashamed at the way you act. Begging for cock like a bitch in heat.” he shook his head and scoffed, a slight smile on his parted lips, “Well. You should be very careful what you wish for, Hamilton... Cause you just might get it.” 

On the dramatic finish, Thomas slid out his fingers and pressed his cock in at the same time, standing up on his knees to enter. In one motion, he was halfway inside, and Alexander felt himself stretch to fit Thomas… and he shrieked. 

For a moment, his entire mind malfunctioned. Everything went into overdrive at the same time. The pain and the pleasure was so… devastatingly intense that Alexander saw white. His vision went completely white. He could hear himself scream, but he wasn’t even sure that it was him. Lafayette held him closer, and Thomas’s hands on his thighs squeezed gently. 

Alexander scrambled to lift his head and sat up halfway on Lafayette, not fully up but not laying down. With a hand clamped down and covering his own mouth, he just…  _ stared  _ at where there were two cocks inside of him, almost numb. Brows turned up, eyes wide, he stopped the shrill scream to just stare, hand over his mouth. Tears spilled and streamed down his face and pooled at the top of his finger. 

“Toma, it is too much.” Lafayette shook his head. But Thomas held up a finger to silence him, all eyes on Alexander… watching his every move. He didn’t even squirm, just stared in silence. He gradually lowered his hand from his face at a crawling pace, tears leaking as he whispered. 

“I’m gonna cum…” his voice was shaky and quiet as if he couldn’t believe what he was saying, but as Thomas watched, the words sent a wave of pleasure through his own body. He spectated in complete silence… in complete and utter awe. 

Alex panted once, the breath coming out shrill and high pitched as he panted again and again, heaving and gasping for breath now. His hips jerked forward uncontrollably. 

“I’m gonna cum!  _ Fuck! _ ” he wailed, and Thomas knew that Alexander wasn’t the only one that was close. Lafayette curled his feet in the sheets, and Thomas felt the heat mount in his belly, the deep tingle. It was hopeless for the little one--he was just so… full. He had never been so entirely stuffed and crammed in his life. Never had he had something so substantially large fit inside of him, and now there they were, both hot and throbbing against his prostate without any movement. 

Thomas started to rock his hips, fucking quickly and shortly in and out of Alexander. Seizing the moment, he leaned down to lay on top of Alex, standing up on his hands so the three of them were stacked one on top of the other, crushing Alex and both fucking him, using him like a toy for pleasure. He could feel himself trapped between Alex’s rim and Lafayette's cock that picked up on his motion seamlessly, starting to thrust too in the opposite direction. The friction… the parallel, reversing friction was too much for Alex. He was done-for. With one last hitch of his hips, the orgasm wave surged, bursting free in a tidal wave of cataclysmic intensity. His head immediately snapped back as it began. 

"I'm cu... I'm cu..." his eyes fluttered. He never finished the sentence  


His orgasm scream tore his lungs; it shredded his throat. The sound rang off the walls of the room; Thomas could feel it--chest to chest with the boy--as it vibrated both of them. Thomas kept thrusting, riding Alex through as he convulsed, his entire body contracting violently as cum spurted out of his cock all the way up to his own neck and face, thick and white. 

“Ah! _Ahh!_ **FUCK!”** he screamed, eyes rolling up into his head as his back arched on top of Lafayette and pressed his belly into Thomas’s, his legs wrapping around the man’s waist as he just kept cumming, ribbon after ribbon, spasming with each one that came out. His palms slammed down to the mattress with a smack, gripping the dry, grey sheets and twisting, wrenching them up violently as another wave of devastation washed over him, making his toes curl and entire body spasm and arch. 

He trembled violently and choked on his moan before getting it out, jerking and tearing the sheets until he ripped holes in them with a shredding sound. This second wave wrenched him brutally, sending out the last squirts of cum before the aftershock would arrive. Mouth wide open, eyes rolling, he let the orgasm destroy him.

“ _ Putain de Dieu...  _ Fucking--” Lafayette squeezed his eys shut, abs and legs clenching, and Thomas immediately felt the blooming of cum up inside Alexander’s ass, spurt after hot, searing spurt as Lafayette continued to cum, pumping Alexander full of it. The Frenchman moaned deeply, finishing on a snarl. 

“ _ Jésus putain de Christ.”  _ he exhaled, and he gasped for breath, huffing as he finished on a high. As they both continued to nail in and out of Alex, Thomas felt the hot, burning wetness of cum begin to run down his cock. Curious, he looked down to see that it was leaking, running down his balls and onto the sheets, Lafayette’s white cum that they were pumping into Alex together. 

“Shit…” Thomas exhaled, panting now as he shifted his weight and kept thrusting. He could feel Lafayette’s cock throbbing and pulsating heavily all on its own, pressed up against Thomas’s with no space to spare. 

“Fu-u-u-uck…” Alex shivered, twitching under Thomas as his knees fluttered open and closed slowly against the man’s hips. He cried fluently now, still moaning and pouting as his orgasm continued, the tears streaming down his messy face. 

“M-m-m… Cum in me, daddy. Cu...cum. Cum. Cum.” he chanted quickly under his breath, breathing directly into Thomas’s mouth as the man leaned down to kiss him. Lafayette turned his head to do so at the same time, still lazily pumping his cock inside of Alexander. And so the two men licked into Alexander’s open mouth at the same time, mixing and swirling their three scaldingly-hot tongues in a fast dance of lust. Alex simply couldn’t stop panting like a thirsty dog, slowly… slowly drifting towards the finish of his absurdly lengthy orgasm, coming up on twenty-five seconds straight. 

The men licking at him only smeared the cum on his face--his own cum--with the tears, making a fucking mess out of him. As Thomas thrusted, he could taste the saltiness of either tears or cum or both, feel Alexander’s breath and hear him panting and whimpering helplessly at the intensity tearing him apart. Squirming on both their cocks as the overstimulation began to kick in.

He felt himself get closer and closer until the familiar tug and wave of heat converged, shoving as far up into Alexander as he could go--forcing him to squeak pitifully and wiggle his legs--as Thomas climaxed.    
“Oh fuck…” he whispered and grimaced, pressing his forehead to Alexander’s as Lafyette continued to French kiss the boy loudly in the scant, humid space.    
“Oh  _ fuck,  _ Allie…” he spilled even more cum deep inside of Alexander, filling him. His abs clenched as his cock throbbed painfully, climax washing over him and ebbing away in a wave of heat. 

“God, you’re beautiful… shit…” he spoke without even thinking about what he was saying; it just happened, and Alexander wracked a silent sob, kissing him over and over again--sloppy and sweaty, but he couldn't stop doing it. The three of them breathed, all sweaty and damp, the pure amount of body heat was both hot and gross simultaneously. Alexander was the only one that was trembling, his body twitching and random intervals. Thomas gave the boy a few moments, laying on top of both of them and holding them as they just panted. And came down. 

With utmost care and caution, the Dom pulled out, slow and steady. Nevertheless, Alex whined quietly when the thick cum spilled out of him and dripped down onto the sheets, leaving a wet pool where it collected.

“Gil… go ahead and pull out. Slow.” Thomas ordered, chest vibrating against Alexander’s as the Frenchman puffed out a long exhale, pressing his feet into the mattress to follow suit, carefully sliding his shaft down and out. 

“Mm...mhm.” Alexander whimpered a tiny, stifled sniffle now that they were both out, leaving him gaping. Thomas breathed out a sigh, kissing Alexander, but the boy didn’t respond to it. He was clearly drifting far out in that post-orgasm coma he seemed to go into. Thomas concluded and sat back on his heels, raking a hand slowly through his wet hair. Lafayette whispered quiet nothings to him in French that he wouldn’t even hear if it was in English, brushing his hand over the teen’s chest as it rose and fell, twitching and shuddering. 

Lafayette’s cheeks were blushing from the session, his fishtail braid coming out at the ends. His blue eyes found Thomas’s during a kiss, pulling away to speak to the tallest.    
“Did he…?” The Frenchman furrowed his brows in concern, holding Alex’s hips to peer across in his face. Thomas shook his head, still panting. 

“No, he’s not unconscious.” Thomas reassured, leaning over both of them to grap the cumrag off the top of the headboard, “I know from experience.” he grumbled in amusement, and Lafayette huffed a laugh, running a pale hand up over the top of his head, smoothing down any frizz. Thomas brought the soft, black cloth forward, treating himself first. His cock was a mess of glazed white, both of their cum indistinguishable and mixed. He tossed his head at Lafayette. 

“Settle him down on the bed, and let him swallow the cum.”   
“On his face? It is his own.”    
“I know. He likes it.” Thomas started at the base and wiped himself down in long sweeps, wrapping the towel around his cock and dragging it up the shaft. Lafayette, meanwhile, grunted and hoisted Alexander off of him to lower the kid’s head gently to the mattress. It immediately fell to the side, eyes closed, and his legs splayed flat. As Thomas did his best to swipe the cum off the sheets, gathering it up in the rag, he saw that there were holes ripped in the fabric. 

“Jesus Christ, Allie.” he grumbled to himself, more impressed than upset. He thumbed at the holes, seeing that they went right through before he turned his head to Lafayette in fascination. The blonde was sitting up, braid running down the back of his shoulder as Alex sucked weakly on his finger, licking the cum. 

“You see what he did?” Thomas pinched the sheet and lifted it an inch for Lafayette to see, “tore right through it.” he shook his head, “Guess who owes me a thousand dollars.” Lafayette tossed his braid, running his fingers rhythmically through Alexander’s hair, the kid still running tears down his face. Some of them pattered down to the mattress, making dark wet spots where they absorbed into the fabric. 

“I have seen many climaxes in my life, Toma. From male and female anatomy.” he shook his head, watching Alex’s warm tongue lick and swallow his own cum, “Never have I seen one so intense or long. I am at a loss of words.” he pushed the last of Alexander's release into his mouth, the kid savoring it like his last meal, "He has a more typically female orgasm. I wonder how."   
“Mm.” Thomas grunted in agreement, tossing the towel to Lafayette, “I think the word you’re looking for is envious.” 

Lafayette laughed casually, catching the cloth and using the other side where the webs of cum were not spread. He raised his brows and cocked his head in agreement.    
“Who does not want a half-minute orgasm, no?”

“I’m not sure.” Thomas placed his palms on the edge of the bed and swung off, planting his feet on his modern carpet.

“If it means I’d fucking pass out every time, then it’s a no from me.” he added, briefly flicking a thumb over his brow as he focused on his next task. 

They really should have planned this out better. 

The floor was littered with identical clothing. Two black suit jackets and dress pants, two button-up shirts, two pairs of dress-shoes, and two black ties. They were all wrinkled and inside out, strewn all over the room like a crime scene. This was going to be some work. But what he was focused on most was cleaning and unbuckling Alexander from the leather, staying with him so that he knew Thomas was there. Thomas was going to take care of him. 

* * *

Thomas opened his wine cooler, the chilly air brushing his face. He was now situated in his dress shirt and pants, but no tie or jacket--evening casual. Despite it being mid-afternoon on a Monday, Thomas had two glasses set down on his kitchen island, ready to play bartender. He cast a glance to Lafayette, who was leaning up against the island--the side with the chairs--and yet he was a man that was always standing.

“Anything in particular?” Thomas inquired, and the man shrugged with a frown.    
“Any… Cognac?” 

Thomas poked his tongue inside his cheek as he scanned, holding the thin door open. 

“Limited edition Courvoisier.”   
“Excellent.” 

Thomas slid it out of the shelf where it was placed and lifted it down, the chilled glass numbing his hand. Lafayette tapped on his phone as Thomas came up to the kitchen side of the island, unscrewing the glass bottle stopper with his dexterous fingers and a clinking noise. The Frenchman sniffed, lifting his chin as he clicked off his phone and tucked it into his back pocket, joining the present moment to watch Thomas pour the golden brandy into each glass. He filled each halfway before twisting the bottle to cut off the stream and place it down on the table, contents swishing gently inside. 

As he poured, Thomas could feel the light throbbing of the claw marks up and down his back and shoulders as they rubbed against the fabric of his clean dress shirt. Alexander still didn't know about it, and Thomas hadn't realized himself until he had gotten out of his quick shower, but the kid had drawn blood. A few of the scratches had been bleeding barely and stung like hell in the shower. They were very shallow, but they were long.

Thomas pushed one glass forward to Lafayette with a pinky, who took it with a dip of his head. For a few moments they sipped, tasting the liquor in silence. The apartment was utterly quiet, only the sound of bathwater running down the hall. Finally, Thomas licked hips lips and crossed his ankles, leaning on the side of the counter as Lafayette was. 

“So.” he leaned forward with a rustle of fabric, still dangling the glass from his fingertips, “Where’re you headed now?” 

Lafayette finished his own sip, taking his time and huffed, “Probably church.” 

Thomas exhaled through his nose, amused. 

“A man of devotion?” 

Lafayette shrugged in a ‘what-can-I-say’ manner with a smile, “A man of many sins and many repentances.” Clever. 

“I’ll drink to that.” Thomas grumbled, tilting his glass up to Lafayette who nodded and did the same, both of them taking another short sip before lowering them back down to the table. Lafayette’s suit jacket was slung over one of the low backs of one of the island stools, ready to leave whenever they saw fit. However, he let the taste of brandy sit heavily on his tongue, tapping a metal ring against the crystal glass on one long finger.

“And you?” he made Thomas look back to him with those raven-colored eyes, “What does the rest of the day hold?”    
Thomas shrugged, shifting his weight on the floor looking into his glass as he swirled it. 

“Allie probably needs a couple hours of aftercare after that. So I’ll head over in a couple minutes to make sure he’s okay.” Thomas sniffed, swirling the golden-brown liquid and raising it up to his lips, “Then we’ll eat the food I ordered and look at the file again.” he spoke into the hollow-sounding glass, lips already on the edge when he tilted it for another taste. Lafayette pursed his lips and nodded, obviously contemplating something. Still observing the skyline, he spoke.

“The boy is… how you say, ‘high maintenance’, oui?” 

Thomas chuckled and let his chin fall to his chest for a moment, lifting his glass-hand to scratch his eyebrow as he laughed. 

“Gilbert, he’s a full time job.” 

The Frenchman huffed with a smirk, watching the tiny cars pass through the freeway, the white glint of the half of the Capitol Building that still remained in the distance. 

“And yet you clock-in.” he whispered in French. Thomas’s brows flicked down briefly. 

“ _ Excusez-moi?”  _ Thomas responded, and Lafayette didn’t look back, still staring out the ‘windows’. For a few long moments, he didn’t speak. He just breathed quietly, observing the view. He rarely had time to go into the city. Finally, he tapped his knuckles on the countertop and spoke. 

“I believe I learned something today, Toma. Many things,” he frowned, “but one has stood out to me.”    
Thomas looked at his turned-away face, feeling the philosopher side of his trainer kick in. He was familiar with it after these years, always something that had exhausted him.

“And what would that be?” he responded in French nevertheless, and Lafayette continued in that tongue. He gestured at nothing with his glass, waving it in a kingly manner.    
“My father taught me many things when I was a little boy,  _ mon ami _ . And one of them was that sex should always be a matter of respect and passion. Those were his two words. Respect. And passion.” he orated firmly with a crisp nod of his head, obviously reminiscing and thinking about his childhood home and family overseas. Thomas listened despite his discomfort, shifting his weight again with a rustle of fabric. 

Finally, Lafayette turned his face to Thomas, who was reading the white label on the old liquor bottle. 

“What he failed to tell me was that respect and passion do not come only in the shape I know them.” he smiled lightly, settling his empty glass on the table with a clink, satisfied with himself. He leaned deeper onto the table with his elbow, lifting his ringed finger to point at Thomas. 

“I did not like to watch you hit the boy, Toma. But I understand after today that what you do with him is the opposite of unhealthy; it is not for harm. It is a balance. It is a consented-upon request for mutual respect.” Thomas sipped from his brandy, still looking away from Lafayette as the man lectured him, wondering when and how it would end. 

Lafayette shrugged indifferently, “Now that much is easy to understand. So what?” he asked rhetorically, answering himself, “‘So what’ is that you discipline him not because of hate. But because of what my father told to me. Passion. Care.” he nodded with each word, waving his finger. When he had finished, he stared at Thomas who was slowly rotating the glass in his grip, deeply focused on how the light refracted off of it. The Frenchman tilted his head. 

“This is a new beginnings between us, Toma. This rendezvous is our secret, so I want to ask if you can spare me one more.” he blinked his blue eyes calmly, “How is it that you can care about Alexander Hamilton?”

Thomas licked his lips again, remaining impenetrable. 

“I can ask you the same thing, Gilbert.” Thomas sighed in English, stubbornly not meeting his eye but still leaning up against the cold granite of the island countertop. Lafayette shrugged, lips parted in misunderstanding.    
“You are mistaken. Today was about sex to me and nothing more.”

“As a person.  _ Monsieur.”  _ Thomas addressed, finally swinging his head to meet Lafayette’s gaze, “You care whether he lives or dies. You care. So why do you?” he snapped stand-offishly. He was biting the hand that had tried to help, throwing up walls of self defense and reversing the question. Because that was exactly the question Lafayette was asking him: why does Thomas care if he lives or dies? Perhaps Lafayette held the answer for both of them, was Thomas’s thought process. No matter what it was, he didn't want it on him. He didn't want the spotlight; he didn't want to be forced to figure himself out. Not here.

For a long minute, Lafayette didn’t answer, he just tapped his finger on the glass that he was already finished with, nothing but a thin film of gold lining the bottom. Finally, the man shook his head, still retaining eye contact. 

“Three years ago, I met a boy who was destined for more than any other child could ever dream before his seventeenth birthday. I met a latchkey child who survived the slums, who survived horrors that I am not permitted to even disclose to you. But I can tell you this much, Toma Jefferson,” he shook his head slowly, decelerating his pace and volume, “His gift of intelligence, his gift of marksmanship survived all of those horrors that no child should endure. And after such a past they are not gifts to anyone, not even himself; they are burdens.” Lafayette dipped his head, trying to catch Thomas’s eye as he placed a hand over the left side of his chest on his white button-up shirt. 

“I met a boy who hadn’t a friend in this world until a surgeon from Monticello showed him the light.” Thomas pursed his lips, listening but not responding. Lafayette went on, “Not half a year later I have the privilege to meet a different boy just like me. An immigrant from halfway across the world who feels like he is not wanted no matter where he goes.”

“Gilbert, don’t--”

“Randolph. Randolph Emerson.” he spoke and poked his finger into the table to emphasize his point. He moved his feet on the floor, completely ignoring Thomas’s signals to drop the dangerously touchy and sensitive subject. 

“That boy felt hated from the moment Xander laid eyes on him. And he felt like a monster for coming between a friendship this strong.”   
“Alexander was the monster.” Thomas spoke through a clenched jaw, grinding it. He shook his head, not even thinking to question how... Lafayette knew this, “Randolph never did anything to him. Randolph never.”

“Never. This is my point, Toma.” Lafayette shook his head, ready to conclude, “nobody knows what happened that night except for Alexander Hamilton and Randolph Emerson. What caused him to raise his gun at both of you. But I do know one thing,  _ mon ami.  _ It is that I care about Randolph more than many people know.” something in Lafayette’s voice shifted, and Thomas felt his heart lurch. It thumped in his chest. Lafayette sighed, going on, yet Thomas dwelled on his words.

“I did. It no longer matters, but I cared for that immigrant boy more than you understand now.”   
“What does it have to do with Alexander?” Thomas set his glass down, still not looking as he rapidly changed the subject. Lafayette had no right. No goddamn right. 

“Everything. Let me bring us back to the start.”   
“Please.” 

Lafayette cleared his throat and lifted his chin, restating his thesis, “I care about Alexander because I understand more than most, Toma, that nothing is black and white. Especially not that boy. I care whether Alexander lives or dies because I no longer feel hatred for what Alexander did. To you. And to Randolph.” he nodded slowly, lowering his hand from his heart as he whispered in French. 

“I feel only pity. For Alexander.” he compressed his pale lips and shrugged, “Because someone must be terribly… terribly broken to try to murder his two closest allies.” he met eyes with Thomas for the second time,

“Because whether he will admit it or not, Randolph always tried to be his friend from what I could see. He never gave up. A boy must be…. terribly broken to try to take that away from himself. From you. And from Randolph.” Lafayette stood back up straight and reached across the chair to his suit jacket, pulling it towards him with a rustle and flash of smooth satin interior. 

Inside of it glinted a tiny, round, golden button… but when Thomas squinted, he saw that it wasn’t a button at all. It was a pin. 

A golden pin with a letter inside of the ring that he could not see, but he knew in an instant that he had seen that pin somewhere before…His heart lead into his chest, and his brows darted down momentarily. Lafayette kept talking, not noticing Thomas’s eyes no his pin.

“That is how I care about Alexander Hamilton.” Lafayette swung the jacket around, flaps fluttering a bit before he fed his arm through and shrugged it onto his buff frame. His voice was not cruel, it was not accusing. It was simply his answer as Thomas had wanted it: plain and forward. Yet his mind was locked on that flash of gold from inside Lafayette's suit lapel, the rusting, old-looking pin. 

“I only wonder how you do.” he rounded the island with one hand on it, the other holding his empty glass. When he reached Thomas, he placed a hand on his shoulder, passing him the glass with the other. For a moment, they made eye contact.

“I hope one day you find the answer. You deserve it.” He squeezed the shoulder, and Thomas broke the eye contact, smiling tightly. When Lafayette understood he wasn’t going to get much of a response, he nodded a bit awkwardly, thinking maybe he had shared too much. But it didn’t matter. All he had shared was his truth. He slipped his hand off of Thomas’s shoulder and stepped away, his heels clicking on the dark, hardwood floors of Thomas’s sleek apartment. He left the man standing in the same place, two glasses in his hands. 

“Thank you for this, Toma. Enjoy the rest of your day, and I wish you luck on your mission.” he nodded as he turned, long braid slipping over his suited back. 

“I’m glad we could make amends, my friend. You are a good man. Never forget.” he flashed a glance over his shoulder, and all Thomas could see was those icy blue eyes, so blue they were nearly purple in the light of the skyline. The way they glinted reminded him of the golden pin sitting at his heart, buried beneath his suit that Thomas was sure he’d seen somewhere before… 


	20. The Right Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all want some feels today!! Sorry for the short chapter, but I promise we will be getting flashbacks galore next chapter!! Get ready to jump into the past! 
> 
> Much love to each and every one of you for any and all support and sticking with me on this journey! Stay safe out there! <3 💕

“Knock, knock.” Thomas rumbled, stepping into his bathroom. It was humid in there, the mirrors not completely fogged--only at the top from when he had hopped in for a quick but thorough rinse-down before his talk with Lafayette. Now, it smelled like bath soap and and lavender scented candles in there, the warm feel of scented wax wafting all around him. 

As soon as he turned the corner inside, there was a deep sloshing of water, something large moving. 

“Ah. And so he returns.” Alexander called.

There was a second voice, sounding tinny and hollow like it was coming from a phone speaker, “Oh, should I…?”

“Yeah get the hell out of here, perv. I don’t know why you would call me when I’m naked.”   
“Wait, you called me--”   
“Adios.”

Thomas reached under the sink counter to produce a modern, taupe colored stool that he dragged over to the side of the tub alcove that Alexander was bathing in. Thomas sniffed, settling down in the stool and parting his knees to place his elbows on them and observe the sight before him. He’d drawn up the bath for Alex before his own little rinse-off, and now Alex sat up off the head pillow to glare at him, soaked strings of hair clinging to his neck and face. His lashes were heavily laden with bathwater to show that he’d been washing his face, and Thomas could smell his own shampoo on his hair, leaving white foam suds floating in the water. His entire bathroom was well decorated, but he loved his large tub in the alcove, a shelf providing space for decorative stone displays and candles that he had lit.

Alexander had his phone in his hand before he clicked it off and stretched to place it up on the alcove shelf with a clack next to some half-burned incense sticks in an empty mason jar. 

"Thomas Jefferson. How are you?" he swung his head to Thomas, a cunning glint in his eye. 

Thomas scooted it closer across the marble floor with a screech, coming right up to the edge to sigh and flick a nail above his eyebrow.    
“Was talking with Lafayette.” he sniffed, settling his elbows back down on his clothed knees, “Who the hell do you think you’re FaceTiming in the bath?”

"None of your business, darling." he blinked, but Thomas was having none of it.   
"Don't call me darling. And I don't care if it isn't my business." 

Alexander shrugged, deciding it would be amusing to see Thomas's reaction to the truth.   
“Laurens.”    
“Nope.” Thomas flicked a hand, immediately dismissing that idea, “That can’t happen anymore.” 

“Literally eat my ass, Thomas.” Alexander scoffed in complete disrespect, knees bumping the sides of the tub as he moved around, sloshing the murky, soapy water, “I couldn’t care less when it comes to that dude. He’s seen me naked more times than you have or ever will.”

“Not anymore he won’t.” Thomas growled, and Alexander just laughed at him. 

“Well while you were having your little gossip session with Monsieur Croissant and painting each other’s nails, I was waiting for my fucking aftercare. The service here sucks, and you can expect a highly explicit formal complaint.” 

Thomas just scowled at him, “I could get a ‘thank you, sir’ for making you a bath and lighting all my good candles.” 

“Oh, I'm sorry, 'sir', were your good candles supposed to coax me back from post-orgasm comatose and give me aftercare?” Alexander sloshed, turning to sit on his knees in the deep tub and bumping them against the side. He placed a wet forearm across the edge where Thomas was and dangled his other arm out, dripping trickles of water onto the marble floor from his fingertips. Alex shrugged, collarbones popping, “Cause if so they do a pretty shitty job, shit-wit. You should fire them.” 

Thomas inhaled deeply, sensing where this was going with Thomas’s slowly widening smirk. The kid’s bitchy mood changed on a dime, lifted by puns.    
“Get it…” Alexander grinned, “ _ Fire  _ them. Cause they’re candles--"

“Candles. Yes. I get it.” Thomas drawled on a deep breath out, giving his usual reaction to Alexander’s insufferable and deeply terribly puns. He closed his eyes and placed the heels of his palm backwards on the edge of the tub, outside of where Alexander was lounging. Leaning forward only caused the cuts on his back to sting, rubbing against the dry shirt.

“So. Time for your favorite part:” he spread his knees further to get comfortable, listening to the calm trickle of bathwater, “Talking about the sex.”    
“Sick.” Alex monotone unenthusiastically, and Thomas shrugged, lifting his fingers. 

“I don’t wanna hear your shit opinions either, but I’m required to ask. So tell me what you thought. How’re you feeling?” he slid his arms on the cool grey of the contemporary tub so that his elbows rested there now. He ran his hands down the backs of Alexander’s shoulders, wet and warm and slick. Just touching Alexander’s body, made him move a little closer, and Alex did the same wincing in pain at the movement. 

“Well.” Alexander folded his arms on the edge now, still facing Thomas as the man touched him, stroking his thumbs around the edges of his sharp shoulder blades, tracing them lightly, “I can’t feel my legs. Or anything below my waist.”   
“As planned.” Thomas grunted. 

“I’m exhausted. I’m starving my skinny-ass off, and I need my daddy.” he stuck out his bottom lip and turned his brows up, giving Thomas the puppy-dog eyes that he’d never seen before. Surprisingly, his heart flooded with an omnipotent wave of… something. It was obviously an aftercare thing. Alexander needed him to avoid subdrop. But that look on his face was so genuinely helpless and dependent. The man shifted.

“Here now.” Thomas cleared his throat awkwardly and looked down for a moment, needing to clear his head, “What else?”    
“I thought making Lafayette hump the edge of the bed was particularly cruel.”    
“Thank you.” Thomas dipped his head and took the “compliment” Alex had given him. Alexander snickered, the sound echoing hollowly in the bathroom space. 

“But also  _ weirdly  _ hot. Where the fuck did you pull that one out of?” he shook his head, “I daresay somebody has a little thing for dry-humping. Seemed to be a theme, no?” he twitched his brows and gave Thomas a wicked smirk.   
“I’m asking the questions.” The man grumbled dryly.

Alex held up his fingers in innocence, surrendering, “Just saying. Very hot. Very twisted. I’m definitely going to hump my bed and see if I can cum tonight. Or I’ll try your new couch, whichever comes first.”    
“No you won’t.” Thomas didn’t even look at him as he responded seamlessly, checking the time on his watch. Alexander laughed, sloshing closer.

“I’ll think of something really hot to make it happen. Like you in knee-high Crocs. Mmm…” Alexander licked his lips and leaned forward, snatching a quick kiss that sloppily missed the center of Thomas’s lips by an inch as the man jerked his head away, sputtering some before returning with a dark scowl. He shifted his ass on the stool, irritated. 

“I’m gonna just pretend you didn’t fucking say the words ‘knee-high Crocs’ and try to kiss me, Alexander.” 

“There are five stages of grief. The first is denial.” Alexander jerked, splashing water onto the floor and down the side of the tub when Thomas poked his fingers under his arms, tickling him and making him contort. Alexander screamed out loud, tossing his hair and sending a spray of droplets onto the wall behind him, unintentionally extinguishing a candle. 

“Stop, STOP! Jesus fuck…” he panted breathlessly when Thomas finished and held the man’s wrists away from his body in his soaked hands and smiled, out of breath as his glistening chest rose and fell. Wet fingers curled around Thomas's warm wrists, staring at one another in breathless euphoria, they both felt the little skip of adrenaline in their chest. The heartbeat that was tripped over, skipped over for an instant. Alex moved his fingers a bit, lowering his forearms down to the tub as he did so. 

Thomas shook his head. 

“How do you even come up with that shit?” he inquired, not exactly wanting to know. Alexander shrugged, playing with the hair on his arm with a slightly pruney finger pad.   
“Us psychopaths have weirdass dreams.” he answered, only looking at his hands, and there was that golden glint in his eye. The glint of insanity that was gone in an instant. 

Thomas blinked, knowing he shouldn’t have asked.    
“You’re telling me you had a dream about me wearing knee-high….” he closed his eyes, struggling to get the words out, “Crocs.” he finally finished, a pain tearing at his heart to even speak of such an atrocity, and Alexander nodded.

“Yeah, man. That and your birthday suit. But instead of a dick, you had--”   
“No--shut up; I don’t want to know.” Thomas shook his head dismissively, pulling his wrists free and standing from the stool as if deeply disappointed and exhausted with Alex. The sniper chortled after him. 

“You know what an Almond Joy is?”

“Alexander, what part of ‘shut up,  _ I don’t want to know’  _ do you not understand?”   
“The part where I give half a fuck.” Alex just kept talking as Thomas sifted through drawers, pushing aside a random hair straightener he didn’t know he had and a half-empty cuetip pack before he found a blue Wet Brush and lifted it out. It was honestly probably the cheapest thing he owned, but damn did it work like a charm on wet hair. Especially long hair like Alex's. 

“So your dick was an Almond Joy.”   
Thomas re-approached the seat, listening to the chatter, “And that was my dream.” 

The man grunted as he sat down and reached up to the hook where a white towel was hanging on the hook he had left, the same towel Alexander had used when he came down from his own room.    
“Thanks. I hate it.” Thomas praised, and Alex snickered.

“Anytime. My dream archive never ends, so if you ever want to hear another.”   
“I don't. And I won’t."

“You sure?” Alex raised a wet eyebrow as Thomas folded the towel awkwardly on his lap, slinging it over a thigh when he was finished, “Cause there’s a good one about an uncircumsized--”   
“ _ Don’t  _ finish that goddamn sentence if you want to remain conscious for the remainder of the day, Hamilton.” he spat, raising the hairbrush, and Alex only smiled. 

“Boy, my asshole feels like a World War One trench; don’t threaten me with a good time.” he snorted, and Thomas finally remembered to get back on track. He blinked, shaking his head and coming back to reality.   
“Where is this conversation going? Back to the sex, dipshit. Stall one more time and I’ll eat your food.”

“Whoah, okay, chill out.” Alexander rubbed a hand under his nose, tone telling Thomas that someone else eating his food was one of the worst punishments imaginable.    
“Uhh…” Alexander thought, and Thomas handed him the towel, “Thigh cuffs are a yes. That collar was the shit.” 

“Didn’t fit you. You need your own.” Thomas huffed gruffly as Alexander stood carefully from the tub. The water streamed off of him and down his legs loudly into the bath. He was obviously in some pain, wincing on wobbly legs that worried Thomas. A bathtub slip wasn’t an uncommon thing in his O.R. back in his surgeon days. He rubbed the towel messily over his soaked hair and face before swathing it around his body. 

“I want my own. And I want it with diamonds. And  _ oh.”  _ Alex remembered something, stepping his knobbly knee out of the bathtub and onto the slippery floor, “Holy fuck when you nailed me for five minutes and stared at Lafayette the whole time. Duuuude.” 

“Don’t call me dude.”   
“Your cruelty towards him was disgustingly orgasmic. You're such a bastard I almost cummed.” Alexander continued on his rant, and Thomas just let it happen, “Which was a feat of unimaginable strength, mind you. And you’re a  _ bitch,  _ Thomas.” Alex changed the subject, now out of the bath and leaving puddles around his bare feet where he stood. Thomas tossed his head to tell him to enter the bedroom as he rumbled his next words.    
“I’m a bitch.” 

“B-E-H-C, bitch.” 

Something in Thomas’s heart sank unexpectedly. Alex… didn’t even seem to notice anything as he limped off heavily into the bedroom, clearly in a fine mood after such a day. His feet left dark spots on the carpet as he teetered. 

“Why the fuck would you try to fight Gilbert-fucking-Lafayette. In the warehouse. You have a death wish, Jefferson. If you want to get yourself killed, just ask me; I'll do it gladly. Nothing I love more than a good hit.” 

Thomas was still shaken by Alexander’s spelling. Speechless. The kid walked backwards in front of him, and his face fell. He bounced, tilting and teetering as he hobbled and limped into the bedroom. He read Thomas's face like a billboard. Something was wrong.

“You good?” 

Thomas forced a tight smile, “Yeah." he sniffed, flicking a finger under his nose for a minute as he nodded at Alex, "Sit down.” 

“Where?” The sniper thumbed at the edge of the towel, untucking it.

“Where do you think?” Thomas tossed the brush down on the sheets and strolled off towards the closet.    
“Put on your underwear; I brought some down from your room. Bed.” he commanded, and Alexander stood at the edge of the bed that had been made and returned to normal with the calm-grey comforter and all.

Thomas had slid open his closet door and disappeared inside, so Alex dropped the towel to quickly scrub down his legs and crotch, drying the areas with stiff, leaden arms. Thomas's soap was lavender scented, and now that was all Alexander smelled like anymore. Thomas's scent was all over him rubbed into his skin; anyone could tell from a mile away. 

“You went through my drawers?” he inquired conversationally after Thomas passed with a cool breeze of mild cologne, giving him goosebumps up his arms.    
“Yes, and you’re disgusting.” 

Alexander paused for a moment, putting his damp heel up on the bed and rubbing down his wet leg. God, his asshole hurt. He had to move slowly or it felt like forty-six pinecones were shoved up his ass with an ignited Bic lighter. He wasn't injured in any way--Thomas always continued in a way that ensured there was never tearing of tissue of drawing of blood--but he was sore. He'd... never taken that much at the same time. Never anything even close, which probably caused the explosiveness of his orgasm. Just the pure prostate stimulation adding onto his already-absurd intensity climaxes.

“Are those two things related, or just a very late observation?” Alex huffed, feeling the exhaustion beginning to toll on his young body as he scrubbed down his chest, flicking off some towel lint. A mission and an hour of sex wasn’t going to keep him awake for much longer, especially not with the adrenaline settling in his one-hundred-thirty-pound system. He needed a shitload of junk food and a power nap in that order. Thank God someone was heading over with his double-order steak and bacon panini and kettle chips or he’d die. And thank the lord that Thomas would be forced to stay with him for aftercare or else he wouldn't want to gorge himself and power nap on his own. Was Thomas still young enough to want to do those? 

There was the muffled sound of a drawer shunking closing in the closet and another sliding open.   
“Let’s just say that now I know where you keep your purple and blue vibrators.” he growled, and Alexander, who was unfolding the boxer briefs on the bed barked out a high laugh, genuinely unabashed. Thomas was still annoyed. 

“And not even on the bottom or hidden. Just  _ sitting  _ on top. I mean what is wrong with you?” Thomas spoke seriously, “Why?” 

Alex finished his laugh on a high sigh, laying on his back on the bed to pull his undergarment up his thighs and hips, shimmying them up to avoid the soreness, “Look Thomas, I get  _ really  _ horny so quickly that I need them at immediate access, or I'll just use your hairbrush. Plus I have no sense of shame, so I couldn’t care less who sees that I spend an hour a day dildo-ing myself between my meetings with world-renowned tycoons on my yacht and my dinner reservation at  _ Le Diplomate _ .” 

Thomas wanted to strangle the little shit. 

“That  _ arrogance _ is gross.” Thomas sneered, “You’re gross.” The pure amount of money and pure lack of fucks to give made Thomas sick. Alexander just tossed his chin and smirked, unfazed.

“As you did not fail to inform me whilst rubbing your penis across my mouth.” Alexander clapped back with an ironic, tight smile to Thomas who emerged from the closet… and immediately Alexander’s mouth dropped, cutting short his smug attitude. He knew what he was expecting: white T-shirt and designer sweats. He wasn't too far off, but s omething inside of his chest… simply shifted. 

Thomas scowled at him, hand up in his hair and smoothing it back, “What are you looking at?”

Alex just tried to hide a smile and failed, blinking with parted lips.    
“You’re,” he shook his head, “wearing a sweatshirt.” was all he could force out. 

“Okay.” Thomas grumbled judgmentally, swiping up the brush and tossing it to himself with a smack of blue plastic in his palm. Alexander still remained in awe, following him with his head as he rounded the bed. He was in athletic Adidas sweatpants this time, nothing too baggy, but in his black and white sweatshirt, he looked so casual. Like a human instead of a business machine. 

It was plain, the puffy cloud logo and block letters “Said The Sky” were both at the center and up the right arm of the black hoodie. It looked like it had been washed many times, the white polyester a bit cracked and faded, but the black was still dark enough, the strings still intact and in the hood with knots tied on the ends so they stayed that way. 

The boy raised his chin as Thomas swung unto the bed, causing a depression where he sunk his knees in, sheets and comforter shuffling beneath him. Thomas pulled back the blankets, searching beneath it with groping fingers until he found the top sheet and peeled it back too, searching for the bottom. Lafayette had made the bed. 

“I didn’t know you liked Said The Sky.” he sniffed, lowering gingerly to sit on his side as Thomas climbed under the covers, back propped on some pillows leaning against the headboard. The older man shrugged.    
“Only my favorite music. Not that you ever asked.” Thomas grumbled casually, flicking his fingers to signal that Alexander should come closer. The sniper struggled in the memory-foam-like material, getting a bit stuck and every movement felt like a hot fire poker being fucked up his ass. He managed to move with his lack of clothing, but damn was it cold in there. Maybe it was just him cause he had just gotten out of the water and his hair was still wet on his neck, but it was freezing. Getting to Thomas's warmth and presence was now a priority; he hadn't been kidding before. He needed his daddy, but more importantly he just needed Thomas's presence and gentleness after that kind of intensity. Even if he didn't know it. 

“Wow. Thomas Jefferson actually has some form of non-comforming taste?” Alexander bobbed his head with an impressed grin as Thomas motioned with a finger for him to turn around and sit in his lap. He crawled across the bed, wet and stringy hair still sticking to his face and shoulders, chilling him deeply. 

“Mm. Because hardcore BDSM is mainstream.” he drawled sarcastically, kicking the blanket back with his feet so that Alex fit under it with him, sitting in between his legs. The kid placed his hands on Thomas’s warm, smooth thighs as he lowered down, groaning. 

“Okay, that’s fair.” Alexander agreed, voice strained and breathy as he finally sat down, scooting up closer to Thomas with no lack of grimacing.    
“Jesus fucking Christ.” he puffed a relieved exhale with wide eyes when he finally sat down, and Thomas twisted, pulling another pillow closer so his back was digging into the wood behind him.   
“Ass?” he inquired.

“Nah, my fucking elbow.” Alexander rolled his eyes sarcastically, and Thomas chuckled at him, shifting the pillow into the right position under his back before it was time to start Alexander’s aftercare. He sighed quietly, reaching around the kid’s front, and Alex jumped, shooting lances up pain up from the seat of his ass when there were hands around his hips. 

“Whoah, Jeez, Allie.” Thomas breathed, brows furrowed down as he held him firm instead of recoiling away, rubbing his hands slowly on his hip bones, “Relax...”   
Alex’s belly relaxed as Thomas asked, the much larger man wrapping his black-clad arms around the front of him. The thick fabric of the sweatshirt bunched up in pleasant rolls, and it felt good pressed against him, warm and soft with age. It smelled like Thomas. Not just his cologne and perfume, but _him_ if that made any sense. Immediately, Alexander's mind loosened, endorphins coursing through him like warm, tropical waves. 

“When someone touches me from behind, they’re usually trying to kill me or beat the lights out of me.” he chuckled morbidly, and Thomas just swallowed, carefully pulling Alexander up against his chest, parallel with his body as he leaned deeply back into the pillows, letting himself sink in, shuffling the satin. He pulled out the brush from where he’d set it under the covers and felt Alex’s voice vibrate against his chest, the sniper’s hands still on his thighs, playing with the seams. 

“Speaking of which, if you want to keep your job, I should decipher the file sometime this afternoon.” his voice clicked right back into professional, and he smirked, “If there’s anything I’m good at, Jefferson, it’s puzzles. I’ll solve it while we’re eating Panera then we can figure out whatever bullshit that emo chick had going on, and we’ll be on the road before dinner...” his voice sputtered off at the end when he felt the gentle sweep of brush bristles navigating around his ear, pulling the hair back from his face. Thomas swept it slowly back, pressing down his neck so that his dark, wet locks were straight and stuck to his skin before he spoke. 

“Shut up about work.” he shifted, rustling the covers as he pulled his phone out of his sweatpants pocket. Alexander made a dirty look.    
“And why should I do that, my liege?”

“Because you’re small and insignificant, and I’ll pummel you if you don’t.” Thomas quoted seamlessly, flicking some shedded hair off his finger onto his sweatshirt before unlocking his phone and searching for his home app to glance up and dim the lights gauging how dim was too dim. 

“Ah. Ice Age quotes now?” he rocked his ass, moving closer to lean into Thomas’s warmth and get comfortable   
“Mhm.” Thomas grunted, working out a knot at Alexander’s neck, “And to answer your question, aftercare is supposed to be about not work.”   
“He’s so eloquent with words.”

“Watch it.” Thomas finished off scrolling through his inbox to see one from the Agents Department disclosing a case. He furrowed his brows and clicked on it. Alex leaned against Thomas’s chest and took the sweatshirt string in his mouth, chewing on it as he toyed with the seams of Thomas’s sweatpants. The more he read, the more confused he became… 

“Actually, one more thing from work.”   
“Hypocrite.” Alexander hummed offhandedly, nuzzling back into Thomas's soft body with his face and shoving his hands down into Thomas's pants pockets. He was so warm... he smelled so fucking good, and Alex just rubbed against him. Thomas didn't seem to respond to the affection.

“You’re going to want to hear this one, wise-guy, so sh-h.” Thomas warned, scrolling to the bottom of the email with his thumb. Alex turned his face up and caught the hoodie string in his mouth again, chewed on it lazily. Thomas offhandedly pulled it away from him, letting it fall back against his chest. 

“When the hell is the food getting here, Jeeves?” Alex got bored, but Thomas spoke.    
“You know that semi truck?” 

Alex slipped his hands off Thomas's thighs and pulled the comforter up higher on his body, freezing cold, “Wow, what semi-truck?” he grumbled sarcastically, but Thomas went on.    
“Wanna take a guess what was in it.”

Alexander frowned and shrugged, “A cheap, diluted stimulant drug like Benzoylmethylecgonine hidden in something moronic like crates of Sephora products.” he recited a standard and boring example, but Thomas shook his head, pulling Alex closer and backing up more into the pillows as he read from his phone. 

“Nothing. The entire truck. Empty.” he had made it to the bottom and clicked it off, thinking more about himself than anything else, “What a fucking waste. I have to changing my wheels tomorrow from that fucking car chase you got us into.” he tossed his phone down in the sheets, shaking his head and replacing it with the brush that he used to move Alex’s head before running it through his locks again, the bristles caressing his scalp pleasantly. 

“Good news is you get to masturbate to our highlight reels tomorrow. People loved it, so congrats.” he grumbled. He hardly even noticed that Alexander was staring at the bed. He wasn’t moving. But when there was no response, Thomas stopped. He rotated the brush in his hand. 

“Allie--”   
“That’s impossible.” Alexander shook his head slowly. Thomas felt the mood change, which was common after intense sex, so he tried to go with it. He set the brush down quietly in the thickness of the comforter and linked his hands in front of Alex’s belly. 

“What? You masturbating?” he pursed his lips and shook his head, “That’s as far from the truth as you can get, man.”   
“No, no, not that.” Alex brushed it off, obviously tensing up as he squinted, wheels and gears turning in his mind. That brilliant head of his that Thomas could never peer into for a second. 

Alexander mouthed something to himself then shook his head half a centimeter, dismissive whatever idea he may have just been contemplating. Thomas was deeply lost, but also… the way Alexander was behaving, conversing with himself inside his mind was giving him a weird feeling in his gut. Something sent a creeping sensation running slowly up his spine, and he ground his jaw, needing to intervene.   
“What, do you care or something?” 

There was a moment’s pause. 

And like it had never happened, Alexander smiled. It looked so effortless, so genuine that Thomas almost believed it. Almost. He was that… unnaturally good.

“No. Just weird.” he shrugged, his collarbones popping on his bare chest as he leaned back again, reclining into Thomas. The taller man was baffled at this behavior, but he accepted him into the embrace, laying down so that Alexander was on top of him and his hands were linked over the boy’s bare belly.

“Yeah it’s weird, but stop stressing yourself out when you’re supposed to be winding down from sex and getting away from me as soon as possible.” 

“You’re mean.” 

But even as Thomas brushed his hands up and down Alexander’s bare belly, calming him, Alex’s mind was still in the warehouse parking lot by that plastic woman and her empty words. Now as he lazily grazed on Thomas's hoodie string, the man not seeming to even mind, he questioned himself. He knew for a fact that she was in the mafia because he knew her. From La Dimora--at least she knew him. And why the hell would she of all people be driving around an empty truck full of nothing but armed men? Empty. No crates. No boxes. Nothing. 

It made no fucking sense… but he couldn’t say anything about it. He glanced up at Thomas, who was staring at his own fingers on Alex’s body, tracing where his ribcage met his belly with the sides of his thumb. Alex bit his lip. 

He couldn’t say anything about it without revealing that he knew the woman. And from a time in his past where he was more associated with her kind than he may have thought… now looking at it from this perspective, from this point in time, Alex saw the past in an entirely different lens. Maybe the woman was right. 

He had had associations with her kind. Maybe she was right...

Alexander’s thoughts were curtailed by a rumbling from Thomas beneath him.    
“So what happened in school?" 

Alex let his lip slip from between his teeth, indents pressed painfully in them.  
"What?" 

Thomas shuffled his feet and moved.  
"What happened in school?” Thomas started moving as soon as he’s spoken the words, obviously trying to avoid an awkward silence following. He moved Alexander so that the kid was laying on his side in the bed. The question was unexpected. It came without warning. For once, Alexander didn’t have a response ready on hand.

“Uh,” he turned around to his other side, making the comforter roil above him, “What?” was all he could force out yet again and make himself cringe internally, facing Thomas now. The larger man shrugged, bouncing once to get his arm out from under him and prop up his body on his elbow.   
“You said you had a hard time. Never told me anything else.” he just recited what Alex had told him, and the kid shook his head, scowling in confusion.    
“Yeah. Why do you care?” 

As soon as he asked the question, Thomas was snapped jarringly right back to himself and Lafayette’s conversation in the kitchen. His exact words.    
_ “Why do you care…?”  _ it was the same theme again. The same motif, the same question over and over. 

Thomas cleared his throat, tossing his head so that the hood wasn’t leaning up against his neck uncomfortably.    
“Just filling the time.” he lied. And he could feel it was a lie. If Thomas could sense his own lies, Alexander could sniff them out like a bloodhound. For a fraction of a second's hesitation, Alex just stared at the face a foot from his. The darkness of the heavy brows and strong jaw. And a tiny voice... a minuscule whisper, barely even a thought pulled at him. 

_"Tell him._ _We want to tell him."_

Nevertheless, the sniper just shrugged. His main goal was to stay in control. Keep Thomas out, stay in control. The question was, would that be possible if he let him into his mind? 

“Hate to disappoint, but it’s a pretty short story if you wanted a time-filler.” he was obviously defending himself, closing off, and Thomas pulled him closer. Alex tried to scoot away, accidentally kicking him in the shin with his hard heel.   
“Allie. Stop it. I’m trying to do what I’m supposed to be doing here.” he kicked him right back, and Alex parted his lips and snarled in offense.    
“Ow.” he jerked, wet hair whipping Thomas across the eye, and he recoiled but didn't let go.

Immediately, Thomas regretted his knee-jerk reaction--literally--and closed his eyes, exhaling. Alex just waited for his reaction, staring and breathing quickly. His heart was doing something weird, a kind of adrenaline that he didn't like. That didn't feel thrilling or orgasmic. Thomas calmed himself as Alexander analyzed, counting up to ten and back down. This wasn't the way to do this, and he knew it. Even if he wanted to let Alexander seal himself inside his walls and do the same for himself, he shattered his comfort zone. And not for the first time today. 

“Just come here. And I swear as soon as you’re done telling me, you can take your Panera sandwich and go eat it as far away from me as possible.” he reeled a silent Alexander up to his chest, without any struggle this time. When Alexander was close to him, their hip bones touching, he laid his arm over Alexander’s waist to keep him there, holding his bare body under the covers. 

For a few moments, Alex just… took turns between Thomas’s eyes. He could see his reflection in them... and it scared him. He'd never seen himself through Thomas's eyes, and now his face stared right back. There wasn't even a segment of his mind that was planning on telling Thomas jack-shit. He would never intentionally crack, but now he saw himself... He looked weak. He quickly looked away, a shot of anger lancing through his chest and wrapping its corrosive tendrils around his heart. And for once, he wasn't angry at Thomas. Instead, he bit the inside of his cheek and nodded. He never planned on saying anything. That was the only thing he knew. He never planned on any of it.   


He was speaking before he knew what he was going to say.

"You wanna know?" he didn't wait for a response before he went on, the words bursting forth in an even flow, "I got beat up for being small." he started, pursing his lips. As the words left his mouth, he felt something lift from him, a sort of weight rising off of his shoulders. And it felt _good._ A simmering anger, tore through him, a righteous anger. It... shocked him. He wasn't a person susceptible to fury. To ever losing composure. And now it was a helpless urge; now it was unstoppable. He regretted his vulnerability the moment it began, but he had no choice. Something else was driving him now, something untapped that he had never experienced before.  He had never been so unprotected. 

"Starting in second grade when I got held back at public school. I was the smallest. I was the easiest. I remember," he laughed, sniffing and running a quick finger under his nose, "As soon as lunch was over and the bell rang for everyone to go in the parking lot and play, the fifth graders would look for me until I ended up staying in the bathroom for recess. Every day, with my feet on top of the toilet seats so they wouldn't see I was in there." he nodded firmer, not even looking at Thomas's reaction, "I was a smart kid." 

After he'd started, there was no stopping. The more he talked, the more anger radiated from him in waves of pent up fury, the more hatred and weight billowed off of him like steam. All he could feel was Thomas breathing deeply against his body, the softness of the big sweatshirt. Thomas's scent. And it propelled him. It was the sensation that he wasn't lowering his walls: he was expanding them. He wasn't destroying them--he was safe within...Thomas's. 

"Then I got beat up for being poor. Then I got beat up for never bringing lunch money, then I got beat up for never bringing lunch at all." Alexander felt the humiliation rise with the anger, the adrenaline shooting through his chest the more he said, nodding with each phrase. His words were clipped, hasty, unlike him. "It was whatever excuse they could come up with. My clothes were too big, I was too quiet, I talked too much. Solution: a good fucking ass-kicking, right?" he huffed in sick amusement, smirking, "It wasn't bad. Never was. A black eye and a bloody nose is something I can take. I'm not a pussy. I could handle it." he spat. Not at Thomas. 

"It wasn't bad until when I was in third grade, I got jumped on the way back from school." he ground his jaw, and focused on the cracked polyester of Thomas's sweatshirt, rising and falling. Rising and falling. It was all he could see.   


"I got off the bus on Labor Day weekend, and the middle schoolers held me down in the grass. They shoved my face in the ground, and they broke my arm behind my back." he shook his head, and he felt Thomas's fingers twitch against his back. A tiny intake of breath from the man in front of him. 

"My left arm." Alex lifted it half an inch and let it flop back down to the bed with a scoff, "That was the first time I ever got called a faggot." Alex nodded in acceptance, staring at his forearm, "because I cried when they broke my arm." he compressed his lips again, relishing in the fury, "I didn't even know what it meant." 

"Alexander." 

Alex cut him off without even pausing to register Thomas's tone of voice, to even look up at him, "You wanna know what's even funnier?" he laughed, shaking his head of wet hair as he finally looked up at Thomas. The expression on Thomas's face was unspeakable. If Alexander had seen pain in his life, that was it. Thomas's eyes were brimming with hatred.

"I didn't know what it meant until John told me six years later, because when I looked up the definition, I couldn't read it. And my ass if I was gonna ask my mom." he laughed a little giggle to himself, and moved his legs under the covers. He was cold. Really fucking cold. He sighed, trying to pull the comforter down over him tighter.   
"Funny how the world works, isn't it?"

"I don't think that's fucking funny." Thomas snapped at him, a dark and low growl. The hand on the back of Alex's body pulled him closer, firm and demanding. For the first time, Thomas requested Alex's eyes, forcing him to look up. Alex actually complied, a burst of adrenaline in his heart when he met the blackness of Thomas's irises. And realized what he had just told him.  Holy shit, holy motherfucking shit he had just spilled all of that baggage on Thomas Jefferson. Thomas fucking Jefferson. The fury gave way to regret. To panic. He had cracked.

Alexander's heart suddenly felt like it was shoved down his throat, strangling him. And this time, Thomas was angry. He had never seen him in this sort of... anger in years. It was an ascended level of wrath,

"None of that was funny. You dare say that again, I swear to God," he shook his head, "That's not funny." Thomas finished. It was all he could say. The silence that followed was so torturous, that Alexander just wanted to disappear into thin air. He wanted someone to walk in, someone to call one of them, something. It dragged on and on, and Thomas was just _looking_ at him. Looking at him like he was a weakling that needed protecting, and Alex would rather die. He'd rather put a gun to his head. 

When Thomas shifted, Alexander started to speak again, the humiliation swirling in his chest, making him spiral.   
"Don't touch me, asshole; I don't want your fucking--"  
"Sympathy, I know. " Thomas filled in, cutting him off as he slipped his hand off of Alexander's body, reeling it back in towards himself. Alex just watched, not knowing what the hell was going on or what he was supposed to be saying as Thomas lifted the covers, sitting up in bed above Alexander. 

"Can I ask what the hell you're--" he stopped talking when Thomas crossed his arms to grab the hem of his sweatshirt, pulling it up and over his body with a shuffling rustle. He was bare beneath is, abs stretching up as he twirled it off over his face. He messed up his neatly brushed-back hair as it came off, a couple of strands standing on end. For a minute, Alex was utterly lost. He curled his lip. 

"I know this sounds crazy to you, but I'm not really in the fucking mood, dipshit--"  
"Wear this." Thomas rumbled, setting the sweatshirt in the blankets in front of Alexander. The boy paused, looking at it, and his chest was rushed with a warm splash of something. He started at it, then Thomas, then it again.   


"You lost me."  
"You're cold. I can tell." Thomas answered, and quickly added, "And I'm hot." he waved a hand at it, balled up black fabric between them, "Come on, you steal my shit no matter what the fuck I say, and this is the one time I'm ordering you to commandeer my hoodie." he smirked and huffed a laugh, waiting for Alexander's reaction. The kid just looked at it. 

Thomas wasn't giving him sympathy. He wasn't telling him how sorry and bad he felt about what happened to poor little baby Allie when he was in elementary school. He wasn't making apologies for something he couldn't have controlled or trying to fix it right then and there. He just listened to it. Acknowledged it. And now they were moving on. Thomas didn't know it and neither did Alexander, but he had just done exactly what he needed to do. And he wasn't even trying.

Nevertheless, a relief spread through his chest when Alexander's face broke out into a smile, and the remnants of his anger, his pain, just... lifted. He had done the best thing. The right thing. He'd done the right thing by not assuming what the right thing was. By not pretending he had the answers.

The kid exhaled, running a hand through his wet hair that had left dark spots and streaks on the pillow. Finally, he talked.   
"Fair warning, you're not getting this back." he dived in and scooped it up, balling it around in his hands to find the bottom. Thomas just stayed sitting and watched Alexander do the same, scooting to an upright position as he turned one of the sleeves right-side-out, fishing inside of the sweatshirt. 

"I'm aware." he shrugged, giving him a knowing glance, "It's yours."   
"I don't really need your permission." Alexander huffed muffledly from inside of it, tossing the garment over his head and disappearing within a mass of black fabric, "I'd take this shit either way." 

"And I'll take it right back." Thomas growled, watching Alex scrunch up his face to pull it down, frizzing his eyebrows as he sniffled. He fed his arms through the sleeves one by one, shaking them out so that they slapped the comforter to get his hands through.   
"Bitch, you can try." Alexander laughed, spirits already lifted. The weight lifted. When he was finally clothed, swathed in it, he looked down on his own body, observing. It was _huge_ on him. He might as well have been wearing a circus tent since he could already tell it went past his knees. He held up his arms to show Thomas how far it went past his hands, the shocking amount of excess. 

"Damn boy, you're fat." he snorted rudely, wrapping his arms around himself. Thomas's heart did that damn thing again. It had to be the most wholesome sight he had ever witnessed, Alexander wearing his sweatshirt and hugging himself in it.   
"And it's still warm. Shit." he sighed an exhale, dramatically melting back down into the bed. Thomas watched him bury his face in his own arm, his cheeks pushing up and making his eyes squint as he breathe in deeply. 

"Are you smelling my sweatshirt?" Thomas blinked slowly, and Alexander just exhaled, humming. 

"It smells like you."   
"Weird, but okay." Thomas chuckled, watching Alexander basically melt like a liquid inside of his new present. Alex rolled over, facing away from Thomas. 

"Alright, tell me when the food is here. I'm sleep."  
"You're sleep."  
"I'm sleep." he slurred mostly incoherently, pulling the comforter up to his neck. Thomas shook his head, unable to stifle the weird smile on his face that was coming out of nowhere. Alexander yawned, "Yeah. I don't need you anymore. I have hoodie. You can move out."   
  
"Damn." Thomas sighed, rubbing a thumb over his eyebrow. He exhaled and shrugged, "Guess I'll pack my bags then." he monotoned in disappointment while he watched Alexander stop moving, head sunk down deep into a pillow. 

"Let food in before you go. Night." Alexander gave Thomas a peace sign over his shoulder, but the older just shook his head.   
"Nice try, but aftercare is still a thing that exists bitch." All Alexander heard was the end of his sentence and a rustle before both he and the huge sweatshirt were wrapped up and pinned against Thomas's chest. The bigger man spooned him easily, diving down to kiss the inside of his neck while his chin scraped against the hood. 

"Gah." Alex winced with a laugh, neck contorting against the tickling kiss on his neck, "I thought your ass wanted to get the hell away from me."   
"Well." Thomas grumbled gruffly, gathering up Alex's waist in his arms and pulling that little but up against his junk, "A little hard when you're in my bed in my bedroom wearing my clothes about to eat the food I bought for you."  
  
"Ah so you're a weirdo that wants payment."   
"I require that you sing for your supper, kiddo." he shrugged, exhaling deeply as he settled down, "Which means you can't kick me out of my own fucking bed."  
"Alright. Stay if you wanna nap. Won't be too entertaining." Alexander grumbled, and he actually... wrapped both arms, curled them around Thomas's. For a few seconds, the older just.. stared. He couldn't move or figure out what he was supposed to do now. There had to be some sort of instruction or logic in that brain of his, but it was completely uncharted. 

"Did you die?" Alex grumbled eyes already closed. Thomas just cleared his throat and held Alexander like any movement he made would fuck something up. 

"No, I didn't 'die'. The fuck?" he spat, and Alex just chuckled before going silent, wiggling just an inch more and stilling. Little did Alexander know that Thomas had never cuddled another person in his life before Alexander. Little did Thomas know that Alexander hadn't since his mother died. Yet they both pretended they had the slightest clue what they were doing as Alexander slowly drifted towards sleep, now able to enjoy the lightness of unloading that burden. Of finally saying something to someone. 

It was vulnerable, and it was terrifying. He had hated every moment, cathartic as it was. 

Still, he was the one that got to fall asleep while Thomas thought about it, contemplated his every word with a burning of indignation in the pit of his stomach. This was the kid he still would have traded for Randolph. This is the kid he would have rather it been. Would rather be in the ground with eight bullet wounds in his chest. And the thought of a high schooler pinning him down in the grass, shoving dirt in his mouth as he yanked the kid's arm behind him, kicking his backpack aside and punching his elbow up so that his arm snapped... The thought of a kid who never once went to recess to find friends because he was afraid... it spurred an anger far deeper and more resounding than he'd felt since Alexander took Randolph from him. 

Without even really thinking about it, Thomas stroked his thumb lightly up and down on the front of the sweatshirt on Alex's chest. 

"Hey, shit-wit." Alex addressed him groggily and sighed. Thomas pursed his lips.   
"Yes." he clipped, and Alex moved his feet under the covers.

"Before our mission I think you were trying to say something about something, but I wasn't listening to your dumb ass." 

"Good to know." Thomas nodded, "Shut up now. I like you better when you're _un_ conscious." he slowly... slowly pushed Alexander's head back down to the pillow with his fingertips, and Alex hummed a laugh.   
"Well, what was it." Alex moved his head to rub his eye on his shoulder briefly, scratching an itch and sniffing. When Thomas wasn't giving any response for some reason, Alex twitched his brows down, "Last call. I'm not gonna ask again." 

"You won't want to hear it." Thomas grumbled, making as if to go back to sleep, but Alexander scowled over his shoulder and dug his claws into the backs of Thomas's strong hands.   
"Gah." Thomas grunted and jumped, trying to pull away, but Alexander was a little bear-trap of a nightmare-child. The kid laughed hysterically, a little insane but also light and funny.   
"Come on. Tell me." he breathed, jerking as Thomas writhed and tried to pull free from him, bouncing and creaking the bed.

"Alexander, I swear to God, I'll kick your ass." he growled strangledly, struggling, but Alex had a death grip on him. The kid just smiled, breathless as they wrestled in place.   
"Is is that you have a thing for feet?" Alexander shifted his hips in bed so that he could slide a foot over, cold and clammy to place it on Thomas's knee. Thomas tried to flop away, but Alex dug his toes into Thomas's body, clenching the fabric between them. He kept poking him with the balls of his feet, warming them up simultaneously. 

  
"I won't judge you if you really wanna suck my toes." 

"No."  
"Really? You seem like a foot guy."  
"I am _not,_ you insufferable spawn of Satan." Thomas huffed as he battled in the tangled sheets and moved up his own foot to scrape Alexander's off, but he was stuck like velcro, still pestering him.

"That's exactly what a foot guy would say." he finally released him in exhaustion, still holding his hands hostage, "If you don't tell me what you were saying, I'll assume my foot theory is correct by default." he shrugged, "My guesswork is generally on point. Everyone would believe me." 

"Shut up." Thomas's words were final, and as soon as he said them, Alexander took a pause. He loosened his grip on Thomas's hands, seeming to... calm down. When he spoke next, Thomas felt the winds change direction.   
"Better yet, I know exactly what you hate." Alexander cocked his head in an arrogant, smug stance, that "I know something you don't" smirk curling on his pretty lips, "I'll just keep talking until you can't take it anymore. Won't be hard for me, Jefferson." Alex shrugged, snuggling down in the heavy sweatshirt that smelled so heavenly, "I can keep at it for hours. There's tape-recordings of yours truly in his comfy little cell." 

Alex swirled a circle with his fingertip on the back of Thomsa's hand, and the man could sense that Alexander was once again ready to jump into mind games to interrogate the truth out of him. His blood pulsed quicker because... he wasn't expecting this after what they had just gone through. After what Alex had just spilled and how he had acted. It was like it had never happened.

"It wasn't the loneliness that ever got to me, no." he sighed, storytelling with ease, "It was the silence. I'm sure in my record somewhere you can find it. Me talking to myself for hours."   
He chuckled lightly, the kind that he knew made shivers run up Thomas's spine. In less than ten seconds, he already had Thomas's heart beating. Already was applying the pressure, crushing him slowly. 

Thomas should've know that the sniper would only play nice for so long before he got bored and pulled a stunt like this. Using fear instead of civil rationality the second it became more convenient for him. He didn't play fair--he wasn't capable of playing fair--and now the driver's heart was hammering out of his chest at the mention of the place Thomas had sent him. Alex bit his lip, still tracing light circles over his knuckles, tickling the hair.   
"Though I wouldn't listen to them. Not you at least, Thomas." he shrugged nonchalantly, a light smile on his face as he looked straight ahead, "I said some very... bad things about you." 

Thomas couldn't take it.  
"Stop, Allie. Just stop." he flicked Alexander's hand off in a jerking motion, and the kid recoiled, twitching away from him. But he didn't seem scared he carefully folded his hands over his chest, waiting patiently for his answer.

Suddenly, a tension descended on the pair, not awkward, not silent, but so utterly tense. It was the same pressure Thomas felt when Alexander had a gun pointed at him and a smile on his face, casual and calm while his own heart thumped for its survival. Once again, Alexander was getting everything he wanted. When he wanted it. Once again, he had gone from angelic to hellish in the time a bullet takes to go from chamber to chest. 

Thomas didn't even take a deep breath before he spoke. He wanted it to be over. He wanted it off his chest after the days he had just had. Still it disappointed him. After the milestones they had taken today, Alexander was still a manipulative, conniving little snake. He still always found a way to effortlessly come out on top. 

"I did research. On dyslexia." Thomas's voice was colder and drier than saharan midnight, "I made you flashcards to help you read again. That's what I said before you almost got our asses killed in an empty parking lot." he admitted, "And I said that if you don't want them, I don't give two shits. So take it or leave it, Allie, I don't give a fuck what you do." he spoke harshly, and he felt Alexander... move his jaw. Just to bite his lip.  
  
The five minutes that passed made Thomas realized that any tense silence he had experiences in his life were nothing. Nothing compare to this. 

Laying in bed after sex with a mentally unstable teenager who he had just lashed out at. And he couldn't move. He wouldn't move. All he could do was beg God for it to end, this afternoon that had gone so well and had went to shit in ten minutes flat. Another minute passed, agonizing. It was _painful_ to lay there and wait for Alexander to do something. But... Thomas knew the kid too well. If he was done with this conversation, he'd get the last word. He'd find a way to get the last word, and he'd leave the room with the upper hand. But he was staying. And he was silent, which meant that he... 

He was thinking.   
Finally, after ten minutes, Alexander spoke. He inhaled deeply, and lowered his hands to the backs of Thomas's again. He squeezed them. As he did so, Thomas could't see his face, the boy still facing his pack to him in bed. But he could see their hands, his own on Alex's clothed chest and Alexander's over his knuckles. When the boy touched him, he flinched. What the hell would he say? What the hell was there to even say?

Alex exhaled, and Thomas could sense that it wasn't a sigh. It was an attempt at composure. 

"So when can we start?" Alex spoke completely evenly. His voice showed absolutely nothing. But Thomas twitched instinctively when he felt a warm tear splatter onto the skin of his knuckles. There was only one. And he watched it roll down their hands and into the folds of the black fabric Alexander wore. 


	21. Mulligan's Secret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter coming soon! Time to meet Hercules Mulligan and get a flashback!! 
> 
> Also, anyone wondering about Alexander's scar? Stay tuned for next chapter, and we'll finally find out 😉
> 
> As always, thank you so much for all of the lovely support and comments that are the joy of my day! I love you all, and stay safe out there! <3 <3

**Three days earlier...**

Hercules Mulligan had always been a dedicated surgeon.

He was good at what he did as all surgeons must invariably be. The man was respected and reputed wherever he went--be it hospital or social, though the two were often closely intertwined, having met his wife--the chief of surgery--when he was an attending. Of course, from the moment he arrived as an intern in that hospital years before, he found that his social time would be work time. They were synonymous--round the clock, they were one and the same. 

Time in and of itself was precious to him more than anything and for more than one reason. 

It was a rarity to have time to himself when he was a full-time attending surgeon. And a puppet. 

He knew that now as he stood above the crude and minimalistic operating table, a single light down on his… “patient”. A Chinese-American young woman with a bold haircut and piercings running up and in every nook and cranny of her ears that glinted in the stark light he was permitted to use. The basement was completely silent as he worked. It was just him and the steady beeping of the heart monitor. Steady. Steady. 

Everything _seemed_ to be steady. The movements of his hand. The rhythmic nature of the most basic machines he was allowed to set up. Everything in his heart, in his mind, in his being opposed to this action. His motions disgusted him; his every fiber in his body broke with every little movement. He had sworn an oath never to intentionally do harm to another human being. But it was… difficult not to break that oath with a gun to one’s head. 

And so he performed on in silence. His heart racing in his chest, his breath coming back at him trapped in his mask. The muzzle of the revolver leisurely was held by a nameless man, a randomly selected brute in a suit behind him as he operated on this woman who had been anesthetized without her consent and without his presence. Who’s beautiful, powerful face he was about to mar against his will.

With the most careful and deliberate of movements, he performed the surgery with minimal stress to the area. He did everything in his power to ensure that nothing was left unclean, and that anything that didn’t need to be touched wasn’t touched. 

He was a careful surgeon. As all must be. But being a puppet had taken its toll years ago. The last time he had felt the remotest hint of happiness was when he had shaken the hand of Thomas Jefferson, his friend. His companion and fellow surgeon after telling him that he was welcome into the Federal Bureau of Investigation. And the tall man from Monticello had accepted. 

That was the last light he had witnessed before the shade settled in, the dusk falling like a plague unto his being. 

The mafia. 

The woman below him breathed through the tube in her trachea held to her mouth with a single strip of medical tape. He paused for a moment, reaching for the suction, and the gun pressed to the back of his closely-cropped black hair. Naturally, he squeezed his eyes shut, heart thumping out of his chest. Still, it was in his nature to be assertive, to demand respect.

“I’m just…” he spoke extremely slowly, extremely quietly, “switching tools…” he felt the gun remain tapped against him, cold as ice as he slowed his movements, nothing unpredictable. He didn’t fear for his own life. Not in the slightest. 

He wasn’t the only puppet that was being manipulated. It was his wife and son, William, only ten years old. 

They were the ones at risk. They walked and lived freely, or so it would seem to any outsiders. But though William went to grade school each day and his wife kissed him on the way to her night shift at the hospital, they were always hostages. Every passing second of every day that seemed so normal. 

They were all hostages being used by the man Hercules had never himself seen. The man behind the all-black mask. Plain. Stark. Austere. The Mafia boss, the man with the light hair and the light eyes. He had never once seen him, but his invisible hand controlled every coming and going of his life since the moment the mafia seeped in. And when he would be free, he had given up considering. 

His only comfort was in the drink. Of dark bottles of what was referred to as “the hard stuff” when he was at the liquor store. It had become more than a habit in these dark days. It had become an addiction, an obsession--his love and his hamartia that marred such a respectable man. And days like these when his skills were being used for harm, he knew that he was going to return home in silence--to his family that would remain “safe” for another day now that yet another one of the boss’s deeds were done. 

He was going to say nothing to his wife or child of the crime he had just committed and instead reach for the bottles he kept in cabinets around their house. He would stare blankly at another far off place as his wife watched from the doorframe behind him in silence, wanting to manifest her wishes for all of it to end in one way or another. He was a great surgeon. He was destined for more. And now he was brought to the darkest of hells. 

But for now, it was not over. It was hardly just beginning as the sweat ran steadily, slicking and glinting on his dark skin under the harsh light, his blue latex gloves working steadily. They were tinted with her blood at the fingertips, and still he worked.

There was only the sound of the heart monitor echoing in the basement. The presence of the bodyguard behind him. The sweat trickled down his back as he carefully… carefully lifted the spherical, perfectly preserved eye from her socket to leave behind a gaping hole. He placed it carefully in a bag of fluids on the spindly table beside him and immediately returned to her to sterilize and take care of the wound. 

He knew the motions well. He knew the steps of the procedure; he knew what he was doing better than so many others. But he felt like another was controlling his actions. Because on wider terms, he had… no idea what he was doing or why he was doing it. The orders had been given. He proceeded. 

He did not know this woman. He did not know where she came from or what she was to the mafia. All he knew was his orders. Take one eye. Safely, sterilely, preserved, and keep her alive and well. All they wanted was the eye. 

One. Eye.

It all felt too similar. It was similar to when he had just planned to retire from scouting after recruiting Thomas Jefferson into the FBI and was planning to be a surgeon for the rest of his days. When one of his first orders from the mafia that had ensnared his life was to go back to the bureau, to continue to be a scout against his will. Tell no one that he had planned to retire after Thomas.

To mark down Randolph Emerson and recruit him without ever having met the boy in his life. Without ever having scouted him for the required one-year time period. Claiming he had and editing the records to prove it so.

Randolph Emerson. 

The name haunted him even to his day as he operated on this woman. In that basement, her chest rising and falling steadily under the black T-shirt she was wearing that reeked of body odor and must as if it had not been washed or removed in weeks. The name, he believed, would always haunt him every time he drank. Every time he got a dreaded phone call from an unknown number that was surely the mafia once again, heart leaping into his chest, vision clotting as he watched the lit screen of his phone vibrate on the table--the only sound in the silence. Every time he woke up in the morning and went to bed at night.

Who was he? Perhaps he’d never know--perhaps no one would. Because Randolph was dead. This much was common knowledge. 

But nobody knew Hercules Mulligan’s secret, the secret he could never tell on the lives of his wife and son. That whoever Randolph Emerson was, he was not who he claimed to be. Whoever Randolph Emerson was, it would not lie locked in his grave with his cold body. 

No. Because something was brewing. Something was about to begin; Hercules could feel it. It was in the air around him, in the manner of the guard behind him steadily holding the revolver, vibrating, resonating in the very air. Something was coming. A storm was rising. 

As the woman’s sharp, unique features were exaggerated in the striking surgical light, the dark, gaping hole, Hercules knew. Randolph Emerson may be at rest. He may be dead.

But someone very… very angry was not. 

* * *

**August 25, 2065**

“Hh...Hh...Hh…” the blonde Frenchman panted, and Alex could feel him adjust his grip under his armpits, moving his knees forward on the pullout couch so that he could thrust more conveniently into him. Alexander swallowed, panting himself as his lean arm worked rapidly, crammed under his body--weighed down by Lafayette’s--to hastily stroke his cock. It was pressed uncomfortably against the cheap, spring mattress of the “bed”, but they’d agreed they weren’t going to face each other for this, so Alex could deal.

The metal coils squeaked as the heavy breathing and buzz of the air conditioner were the only ambiance above the TV in the background playing a commercial break from the news. Something about Mr. Clean, but Alex was too focused to pay any attention. The lights were off, and Alex could only see his left hand in front of him gripping the edge of the mattress, stuffed between it and the back of the couch.    
He was sweaty and hot, still wearing his shirt and sweatshirt as the man six years his senior laid on top of him and thrusted deeply and quickly, obviously approaching his climax as Alexander did too, eyes screwed up and pumping his cock madly beneath them. He just kept rocking, vastly outshone in size beneath the man that had stripped off all of his clothes unlike Alex, his chest chafing against his sweatshirt.

Alexander’s armpits were hooked in Lafayette’s elbows, the man gripping him tight with his biceps as his thrusts suddenly got quicker. He panted loudly, Alexander concentrating like hell as he jerked his own length, hand sliding over it rapidly as Lafayette lowered his head down beside Alex’s to penetrate in as far as he could go.

“Oh, Randy…” he breathed, and Alexander didn’t even comprehend it. He didn’t hear the name on Lafayette’s soft tongue as he felt the urgent tug, the tingling thread, and he arched his back, making to dig his nails into the sheets, but the man on top of him interrupted. He groaned, grabbed Alexander’s wrist from behind, and fumbled at it blindly until he laced their fingers together. He held his hand and squeezed as he pounded him.

The sniper hardly had any time to question it as a moan broke free, tearing in a gravelly gasp from deep in his throat. 

“ _ Uhh.  _ **_Fuck_ ** .” he spat, jerking his cock more desperately than ever, toes curling and clenching as he began to cum, quickly cupping his hand over the head while thrusting into it so that he didn’t get it all over the pullout couch that he was supposed to be sharing with Randolph. 

“Oh…  _ Ohh _ …” Alexander buried his face in the unmade sheets as he shivered, jerking out the last of his release into his hand, hot and wet, and copious. The Frenchman above him pulled out, thrusting between his cheeks but not inside of him as he climaxed on the small of Alexander’s back where the hoodie had ridden up. The sniper could feel it fall on him, slicking messily between their bodies as the older man laid heavily on top of him and sighed as the last of his scalding release spurted between his back and Lafayette’s belly. Drifting, cock-drunk, he could vaguely hear Lafayette whispering in his ear as he buried his face in Alexander’s sweatshirt hood. 

“ _ Climax pour moi ... mon beau garçon…  _ Oh Randolph…” 

Alexander’s cock twitched, releasing his last spurt of cum before he sighed heavily, his back returning from its arched position and finally relaxing his arms. He huffed in utter exhaustion. For a few long moments, he just panted--completely spent--and laid there crushed on the bed, twitching occasionally and involuntarily. A ten second orgasm was pretty fucking good, but now he was about as energetic as a corpse. 

Lafayette lifted his head from Alexander’s hood, pushing it aside with his chin to breathlessly kiss Alex’s neck below his ear, inhaling and exhaling deeply onto Alex’s skin. His breath was hot and sultry, a huge turn-on for Alex, but the kid had had his fill. His boss was of no further use tonight. 

Alexander turned his cheek, pulling away from the man’s soft lips uttering words of praise to him. To Randolph, more likely; Alex could hear the other kid’s name on his breath mixed in with the rolling, romantic French that disgusted him. He rolled his eyes up into his head and inhaled,

“Kiss me one more time, and the next thing in your mouth will be a nine milimeters of lead.” Alexander lifted his face from the mattress, tossing his head when a thread of the cheap blanket was caught in his braces bracket. 

Lafayette opened his mouth to respond, but Alexander pulled his sweaty hand free from Lafayette’s. 

“And another suggestion?” he grumbled, wiping his free hand over his sweaty face now and down his neck. 

“If you’re gonna close your eyes and fantasize about Brazil Bitch, do it quietly and courteously, boss.” Alex smiled sarcastically, flashing a quick glint of braces in the TV light over his shoulder as Lafayette sat back on his heels, running a hand over the top of his head to smooth his hair down. 

“I do not--”   
“Yep. You don’t know what I’m talking about.” Alexander laughed and sighed, grunting as he rolled onto his back, Lafayette’s cum smearing into the sheets beneath him. He propped up on his elbows, reclined as he raised his chin in that cocky manner and tilted his head. 

“Don’t think I haven’t heard that one before.” 

Lafayette puffed out a breath and shook his head, barely visibly in the low light, “Give me a break, Xander.” he let his hands fall to the bed in exhausted exasperation, pecs rippling, “A slip of the tongue, alright.” he kept his eyes on Alexander for his reaction, but the kid just stared at him, leaning leisurely back on the bed. Lafayette couldn’t tell if he was smirking or if that was just his lips. 

“Agent Emerson is a colleague.” he emphasized when he didn’t respond, and Alexander sighed, wiping his hand behind the couch to get rid of his own cum. The Frenchman’s lip twitched in mild disgust. When he was finished, Alexander looked back at him, sitting up with another sigh and pulling his sweatshirt down to his waist.

“And we all know how professional you are with your colleagues, Gilbert.” Alexander raised his eyebrows with a straight face, darkly mocking the man as he shifted his naked hips in the bed a bit to signal what they had just done--again--cock resting on his hip. The Frenchman stayed impossibly still, face as stone-cold as marble. 

“You cannot speak to me like that.” he spoke in mild surprise, and Alexander just tilted his head in this… hair-raising little way. Just an inch, his locks spilling over the folds of his sweatshirt.    
“Oh Lafs.” he tutted, “It’s funny, because I can speak to you however the hell I want. And now I know you’ve got the hots for baby Randy like every other closeted, bicurious jack-off in HQ.” he scoffed morbidly, curling his lip to show his glinting, blue braces. 

“Saint-fucking-Randolph.“ Alexander breathed in relish, pursing his lips and bobbing his head, “Let me be the first to tell you you’re not the only borderline pedo that would cut off his left ball for half a nude.” 

He could feel it swelling inside of him, the deeply-set burn of mild loathing that always resided in him. With a metallic squeak of springs and a bounce, Lafayette stepped on to the floor that wasn’t too far from the low bed, and tossed his ponytail over his shoulder so it was against his back. 

“I don’t have to talk about this,  _ mon ami.  _ This was the last time, Xander.” he bent over as Alex watched from his place, picking up his boxer briefs off the cheaply carpeted floor and stepping into them. As he stood and pulled them to his hips, he looked over at Alex.   
“The last time we do this.” 

The kid immediately snickered, all power in his hands. Lightly amused at his “superior”, 

“Alright. Close the door on your way back in, love.” Alexander smiled that grossly arrogant, jeweled smile as Lafayette groped blindly across the floor for his jeans and stuffed his legs through, belt tinkling and still in the loops. 

“I am serious.” he zipped the fly swiftly and fumbled noisily at the buckle, feeding the end through the last loop and tightening it around him, “I am too old for this. For you.” he shook his head to himself and muttered something in French under the metallic clank of the buckle.

“Oh, and not for dear little Randolph?” Alexander’s voice bordered on a sneer as he peeled back the sheets and pulled on his pants and boxer briefs at the same time, never having separated them. Lafayette pointed at Alexander.

“There is a reason that I am fond of that young man, and it is not something I should be ashamed of.” there was a hint of catharsis in Lafayette’s voice, like he’d been wanting to say this at some point to someone, “He is mature. He acts his age. He is a kind soul.” he defended, giving up any effort of denial.

“Please, Croissant, don’t flatter yourself.” Alexander checked out his nails, now fully dressed as he leaned up against the couch. He looked up to Lafayette with his golden, hazel eyes, “He sucks the cock of everyone around him. He’s a people-pleaser. If you think he likes you, the little fucker is working, because he likes everyone apparently.” Alexander watched Lafayette glower at the ground as he roughly pulled on his shirt, tossing his blonde ponytail out. 

“Do not. Call him. Little fucker.” he clipped tersely behind the fabric of his shirt, frizzing his eyebrows as it dragged over his face.

“If you were around him twenty-four-seven, it would make you want to vomit too.” Alex scoffed, ranting more to himself than his friend, “Listening to my dumbass driver simp over the bitch makes my own gun look reaaaal friendly…” Alexander crossed his arms over his chest in a slow, quiet motion. He twitched his shoulders in a lofty, bratty manner. 

“‘Can I get that for you, Randy?’, ‘take my bed, buddy.’, ‘I’ll drag my dick through three miles of broken glass if you glance in my direction, Randy.’” 

Lafayette paused, done getting dressed. He blinked, heart plummeting into his stomach.    
“Toma?” Suddenly, the world was frozen. He couldn’t even breathe. 

“Yes, ‘Toma’.” Alexander mocked extremely rudely, swinging himself out of the bed to pace in the opposite direction, striding slowly by Lafayette with the air of someone much older than seventeen.  Arms still crossed, Lafayette followed him with his head, watching that crown of long hair pass in the hotel room, flashing in the light of the TV to his right as he passed.

“Sometimes I think it's obvious that driver-boy’s obsessed with Randy, but then I remember that the rest of the world is completely fucking blind…” he shook his head, parting the musty window drapes that were a dreadful beige. Outside, the world should have been dark, but the glowing night sky was stained with the orange, rusty tint of light-pollution. Signs of chain stores, fast food, and gas stations lit the night, fluorescent and glowing to show tiny people moving in and out, cars moseying down the dusty desert road of Arizona. A dry, chilly night. 

Alexander’s eyes flickered over it slowly, the billboards reflecting in the flecks of his hazel irises, “Not like you understand.” he shrugged, hand still on the drapes, “But I can see everything. Too much, actually. It sucks.” he shook his head, musing over his own thoughts as Lafayette stood behind him by the couch, within the darkness of the messy hotel room--suitcases and backpacks scattered with discarded clothes.

Every word the kid spoke sent shivers up his spine, and he was already on edge. Hearing that Thomas shared a liking for Randolph? 

“Everything they think. Everything they mean. It’s funny, you know, Lafs. It’s hilarious to me—probably not to you.” he cast a glance over his shoulder, barely even turning his head, “To watch him think I don’t know when he lies.” Randolph. He was talking about Randolph. 

A shot of adrenaline spurted through the trainer’s chest, but Alexander just coolly turned back to the window, the moment passing. He looked oddly eerie, regal standing framed by the colored lights of the night. The true Western-American gothic all around them. Alex just uncrossed his arms and quietly tucked them in his pockets, the dark fabric of his hoodie flashing white in the flickering light of the TV behind him. 

“Did you know I was completely unaware I saw the world through a different lens until I moved out of Harlem?” he shrugged with a frown out the window, watching an older woman with a walker outside of a 7-11, “Never once occurred to me that I’m a hound blending in with hares until people started telling me. Course they’re not so elegant about it; they take more of a ‘psycho-bitch’ approach.” 

The statement caught Lafayette off guard. The Frenchman realized he was holding his breath and let it out, shuffling his feet quietly on the rough carpet beneath them. Alex just kept talking as if to himself. 

“There are things that I can’t understand no matter how much of my ass I put into it. It’s maddening, baguette. It’s like you all seem to miss that the world would be such a simple place if we lived on the basis of survival of the fittest. That’s the one thing that I remember from school, actually. The only thing. Darwin.” he chuckled a bit, casting Lafayette another glance with a gleam of diamond-teeth, 

“Literally years in that place and only learned squat-shit. The American school system went to hell long before the fucking government did.” 

Lafayette pursed his lips in forced, silent agreement. Something in his gut told him that he shouldn’t interrupt. Alex breathed in deeply… and exhaled. It was quiet, but Lafayette could see his little shoulders rise and fall. 

“Luckily for me, that’s what the world is coming to, so I’m all set. Not for softies like you though, no offense.”   
“Soft.” Lafayette repeated immediately, a touch of offense in his rich voice, “I hardly consider myself soft, Xander.”

“Yeah, you weren't three minutes ago.” The kid’s voice was tinted with laughter before he carefully returned to serious. He continued to scan the scene in front of him. The vast span of urban lights that were familiar to him. Almost comforting.

“Being able to fight doesn’t make you strong, Lafs. Being head of Agents at the FBI doesn’t make you strong. I can’t fight as well as you.” he shrugged, toying at the seams inside of his pocket, “But I can murder my degenerate ‘father’ in my own living room for example, or snipe someone’s twelve year old son from the roof of a Sears to show them that when they challenge me, I know where to press them so that they cave like that.” 

He lifted his hand from his pocker and snapped on the final word, the cracking sound causing Lafayette to flinch. That was when he understood that the situation Alex had described was oddly specific. Where the hell was this twisted exchange going? 

“So that I don’t have to do anything else for them to be bowing at my fucking feet like piss-blooded cowards. People are so soft, Lafs; it’s hysterical to me.” he slowly drew the wet tip of his tongue over the curves of his lips, still contemplating his surroundings. When Lafayette didn’t even make an attempt to respond, he huffed. 

“I mean, I can tell without even looking at your French-ass that I’m proving my own point. Which sucks, but I’m not surprised. Can’t tell you how many times I’ve been here before. People can’t understand how I’m wired, and I can’t understand them.” he bit his lip and closed his eyes, searching for the word he was looking for to explain what he was trying to say better.

“You know what a positive feedback loop is?” he found it, gazing back over the roofs of the fast food joints.

Lafayette licked his lips, tapping his finger against the wallet in his pocket, “Yes.” was his only response.    
“Well. That’s what I have going. The more the softies call me a psychopath, the more insane it drives me since I can’t find anything crazy about me. It’s easy to understand.” he sounded genuinely puzzled… genuinely perplexed. And it made Lafayette’s mouth go dry. 

“Everything I do has a reason, a positive outcome and benefit towards the only person I will ever be. Me.” he laughed, “So looks like we got ourselves a pretty fucked up little problem here, don’t we?”

Lafayette was at an utter loss of words at what Alexander had just recited to him--a phenomenon that sounded like he contemplated it a lot, but also made sense. The more people told Alexander that he sees the world differently, the more insane it will drive him, the more differently he will see the world. A vicious cycle. But Lafayette failed to see how it connected to anything they had just done in the slightest. He squinted, shaking his head. 

“I don’t understand how this is relevant.” 

For a long moment, Alexander didn’t even move. He just stood, hair fluttering slightly in the breeze of the old-fashioned AC unit by the window that he was standing before. And then, he turned around, completely casual and friendly once again. 

“It never is.” He shrugged, and started to re-approach Lafayette at a nonchalant pace, stepping over shirts to come his way. 

The Frenchman blinked, baffled as Alexander ran a hand through his soft, brown-blonde-auburn locks and stopped in front of him. The kid was short, nine inches shorter than Lafayette who towered above him, a strapping figure of muscle and high status. Yet when Alexander tilted his face up to Lafayette’s, it was clear who held the power. Without even having to try. 

Alex inhaled deeply, gliding his palms down Lafayette’s sides, feeling over his warm, clothed abs before tucking his hands under his belt. The taller just stood, completely unmoving in the light grip, Alex's hands on his body. Alexander smiled, showing him his youthful braces. 

“Thanks for the orgasm.” he grinned pleasantly, “Now get out.” his voice was soft and kind, almost a whisper. Lafayette felt his heart beating in his chest, and nevertheless he ignored it.    
“Do not dare objectify your superior, Xander.” the man shook his head, “I will never understand why you do this.”

Alex shrugged indifferently, tracing a nail over the metal buckle of Lafayette’s belt, gazing at it. 

“Cool. Don’t care.” he cocked his head, up at the man again, “Thanks for the playdate, Lafs. It was fun fucking with you, but now I’m bored.” he sighed and drawled, looking down at the belt once more, “Especially since I’m just a little Randolph puppet.”    
The taller man clenched his jaw, making to step back, but Alexander's voice stopped him. 

“That’s okay. I don’t mind. You must care about that kid a lot to hop on a private plane for yet another one-night-stand with his teenage lookalike.” Alexander squinted, letting go of Lafayette’s belt as he raised his chin. He was obviously referring to himself.

“A tip for you. I’d stick with legal adults from now on. You’re right. You’re a little old for me.” he smiled tightly, condescending. Lafayette whispered something in French, a bit of a snarl, and Alexander raised one brow provocatively, a smile on his face still.    
“What was that?”

Lafayette ground his jaw and turned away, snatching his coat off the couch arm where he had slung it with a rustle of puffy nylon. 

“I said child of Satan.” he recited his translation in English with a harsh American accent, to which Alexander just laughed, approaching the TV and flipping up the plastic, old fashioned panel to change the channel. It flashed in his face as he leafed through them one-by-one, little clips of static and grainy television sound coming through. What a piece of junk.

“I’m his number one provider.” Alexander huffed with a smirk, placing the sweatshirt string into his metal mouth, “Satan and I are old friends.” 

Lafayette shook his head, “I will see you back at Headquarters, Xander. Try not get yourself or your partners killed; I would be up to my eyes in paperwork.” he sighed sarcastically as if giving up on trying to figure him out.

Alex sighed, still bending over to change the channels, “I won’t get killed. Thomas either. I don’t know about Randolph, though, he’s the kinda guy that hesitates before he shoots.” Alex grumbled offhandedly, pressing the buttons until he settled on a re-run home game of the NHL Arizona Coyotes versus the Carolina Hurricanes. 

“Mm. And you do not hesitate before you shoot?” Lafayette inquired, slipping his finger under his heel in order to pull his second shoe on. He was by the door now, car key jangling in hand as he spoke. Alexander flipped down the TV latch with a clack and leapt backwards onto the squeaky pullout couch to watch the game just starting the second period.    
“Lafs, I never hesitate. You trained me.”

“You do not shoot real. People. During training. People with lives and families.” 

Alexander’s ears perked at the tone in his voice, the Frenchman obviously getting emotional. Alex wanted to scoff, but he retained a straight face for the effect, “I wouldn’t hesitate half a second before shooting pretty boy Emerson himself.” he shrugged, leaning back into the couch and propping up one leg, bobbing it against the arm,

“But don’t get your dick in a knot; I won’t kill your boy-crush cause he’s a lying little shit. I’m young, but I’m not an idiot.” he laughed lightly at the absurd thought, watching Lafayette out of the corner of his eye.    
“Also, go down the hall to the right on your way out. Thomas and Randy’ll be coming up the left if they’re back from the pool yet.”

For a few moments, Lafayette just stood there staring at the kid who hardly paid attention. He looked so relaxed in his casual-wear, just chilling on the couch watching his hockey game. Like a child. And a part of the Frenchman burned. The part that wanted to protect Randolph from anything and everything. And it wasn’t just burning at Alexander for degrading the boy so much, it was burning at Thomas who he hadn’t known was competition until now. Then why the hell hadn’t Thomas made his move yet? It had been months…

“Second thoughts already?” Alex piped up, and Lafayette flicked a nail over his blonde brow. 

“Goodnight, Xander.” he sighed, jiggling the door handle to pull it open.

“Night, Lafs. Have a safe flight.” the kid reached beside him on the mini table to pull forward a half-empty bag of pretzel sticks. A bright light from the hallway fell into the room before it swung shut with a bang, leaving Alexander alone with himself in the darkness of the crammed little room.

It was a bit of a relief for the kid to have some space, some quiet. Just the blinking lights from the hazy night beyond the single window and the grainy sound of the TV. But Alexander only got around thirty seconds of alone-time before he heard the buzz of a room key being accepted and the creak of the heavy door being pushed open along with some talking. 

He turned his head, not even lifting it as he observed the silhouettes of two men shuffling in, bag swinging and swishing against Thomas’s thigh. 

“Why the fuck is it so dark in here?” Thomas immediately criticized in his characteristically dry tone that somehow made Alexander grin to himself in the dark. Thomas flicked on the lights, making everyone in the room wince--especially Alex--before dimming them down.

“Jesus, Thomas.” he blinked, stretching his face out like it was painful. Thomas just kicked off his slides as soon as he was inside the room, entering first. 

“Oh, my apologies. Didn’t mean to interrupt you masturbating.” Thomas tossed his chin at him as he threw the bag down beside the TV which was set on top of the dresser that nobody was using. Alexander gave him a condescending smile with a nose wrinkle as he came up to the closest side of the pullout couch, swinging himself in to sit next to Alex. He bounced both of them as he flopped down with a sigh and crossed his ankles, still in a light T-shirt and deep grey swim trunks. 

“We’re masturbating now?” 

Alex observed Randolph strolling into the room second and closing the door as he spoke, and his wavy hair was obviously not soaked. Now that he thought about it, Thomas didn’t smell like chlorine either. 

“You two don’t look very wet.” Alex noted as Randy climbed up onto the couch bed too with a sigh.

“Yeah we went down, but they’d drained it for mold maintenance or something. Which can’t mean anything good, so can we get the hell out of here tomorrow morning?” The Brazilian spoke, silhouetted by the TV so that Alex couldn’t see his facial expressions, but he could see the tall, lanky outline, the waves of hair and bracelets on his wrists. His voice was deeper than Alex’s--everyone’s was--but no less masculine.

“Randy, move.” Alexander jabbed his partner in the thigh with his foot, craning to see around him to the TV. Randolph crawled up to Alexander’s other side, bed squealing in protest, and huffed as he sat down, bunching the three of them together like sardines. Shoulder to shoulder. 

Alex grunted, mildly annoyed at being pressed against Thomas and Randolph’s legs. The Brazilian shuffled his butt down to get comfortable and reached into the crinkly pretzel bag between Alex’s knees, taking a careful handful not to crush any.

“What’re you watching?” he popped one into his mouth and inquired kindly.   
“What does it look like I’m watching? Golf.” Alex scoffed right back, and Thomas monotoned as he tapped on his phone, used to this. 

“Be nice, Allie.” 

“I’m watching the Canes obliterate the Yotes 6-1 in the second period.” Alexander answered, and Randolph munched on a pretzel with his molars, leaning back so that his shoulder pressed into Alex’s. The sniper didn’t mind, he just wished he had a place to lay his own head cause he was wiped from the day and from the sex. He wasn’t going to go for either of their shoulders at the moment, but Randolph didn’t seem to mind helping himself. 

The eighteen-year-old yawned, dimple flashing for a moment as he leaned his head down on Alex’s shoulder and folded his legs leisurely into criss cross, feeding himself another stick as he nudged his head into a comfortable position and sighed deeply. 

“Don’t forget we’re going to the gun shop tomorrow to pick up the ammo, Lex.” he rumbled.

“Pre-order our shit; I don’t wanna wait. And not with you.” Alex grumbled, shuffling back to lean down deeping into the back of the couch, feeling Randolph’s jaw grind against him as the boy chewed the snack.

“I did.”    
“Mm.” Alex grunted, focusing on the screen as Arizona had a breakaway that almost went in but zinged off the goalpost. Randolph’s snuggling made Alexander both uncomfortable and annoyed, but it certainly wasn’t weird to him anymore. If he didn’t quickly find out that Randolph was a touchy-feely person, it would be odd. But no matter how much Alex expressed that he didn’t want Randolph near him, the dude persisted, cuddling with him equally with Thomas, which seemed to piss off the older one. By all means, Alex would gladly give the older teen to Thomas, and Thomas would accept, but Randolph was a distributor.

Even though Randolph lived officially in Alexander’s apartment at HQ, the trio were together at all times nevertheless. They were inseparable. This, however, was their first overnight mission, basically more of an informal assessment- mission than anything else. A throwaway to get used to one another. This was their second night in this shithole hotel, and they planned on heading back to HQ the next day having completed their assignment early in the morning. Tonight, they just got to relax and sleep. 

Alex reached into the pretzel bag at the same time that Randolph did and slapped away his hand with the back of his own, accidentally snagging one of Randolph's bracelets on his nails.   
“Dude, you just had some. And I bought them.” Alexander mumbled as he took a handful and Randolph went in right after him anyways, which Alex was more than used to. 

“These are the ones I got from the vending machine.” Randolph’s voice vibrated against Alex’s shoulder, his glossy mass of hair all up in Alex’s neck and mixing in with the sniper’s lighter shade. 

“No the fuck they’re not, you community cum-bucket.”   
“ _ Yes _ they are, yesterday when you were napping, and I went to the ice machine. And look, why would they say:” he put his finger under he label to read in the dark, “One hundred percent gluten-free--”

“Are you taking a video?” Alexander cut Randolph off, turning his head to look over at Thomas, who had his phone up in front of his face and was silently wheezing behind it. Alex could see him tremble, abs tense with laughter. 

“Keep bickering, it’s hysterical.” Thomas cackled, and Alex reached across himself and smacked the phone directly out of Thomas’s hands to thump down in the sheets. Thomas just covered his forehead with his hand, trying to take a deep breath as he laughed and swept his hand over to reel his phone back in. 

“Commity cum-bucket.” Thomas repeated on a high sigh, “I made a MyScript account and added both of you. That’s video number one.” He explained, and Alexander rolled his eyes, shrugging and jerking his shoulder to get Randolph off him, but the kid was pretty persistent. 

“How the fuck am I ever gonna sleep like this?” Randolph complained gruffly, tossing his hair out of his dark eyes and running his tan fingers through his locks, smoothing it back only for it to bounce into position again as he leaned into Alex. He put his head where it had been on the kid’s hoodie shoulder once more.

“You won’t. Trust me.” Thomas grumbled his answer knowingly, having shared beds with Alex for the missions they’d been on before Randolph; he was a kicker. Alex was sufficiently annoyed at this point.    
“If you try to ‘snuggle’ me in this bed with your gay-ass, Randy, you get to sleep forever, cause I’ll break your neck.” 

Alex crossed his arms tightly over his chest, trying to stay as far from Randolph as possible on the tiny bed. But surprisingly, the Brazilian shuffled his crossed legs a bit, knee tapping Alex’s. When Alexander felt the pressure from his shoulder lift, his brows furrowed down in mild confusion. Randolph let out a clip of a nervous laugh, hindered by the tinny sound of a goal being scored on the TV.

“Oh, no I’m--” he cleared his throat, eyes flickering from Thomas to Alex, “I’m not gay. I think.” he smiled awkwardly, very obviously uncomfortable, “I’m straight, man.” Alexander just slowly… slowly turned his head towards Randy with a straight face. He didn’t see Thomas’s throat bounce.

He didn’t notice Thomas’s expression as the man’s heart plummeted down… down. His breath stopping in his chest.

And then Alexander burst out into laughter. His hair flung up in Randolph’s eye and mouth as he tossed his head back, obviously exaggerating as he wheezed. Randolph laughed nervously again, obviously forcing it.    
“What?” he spoke over Alexander’s bellowing, “I am.” 

When the younger kid lifted his face, braces glittering in the light, there were tears in his eyes, and his face was red with hysteria. 

“Bitch, no the  _ fuck  _ you’re not.” Both Randolph and Thomas watched Alexander lose his shit in silence. The kid didn’t seem to care that he was the only one laughing. He lifted a thumb to wipe in the corner of his eye, still breathlessly giggling. Randolph bit the inside of his cheek. 

“I’m pretty sure I’m straight, Lex.”   
“Pretty sure?” Alexander snickered, showing all his teeth, “Yeah okay, and I’m pretty sure Thomas isn’t a furry; doesn’t mean I’m right.” 

“Dude--” Thomas looked around, confused, but the conversation continued between Alex and Randolph. The younger turned his body to face the older this time, looking up into his nearly black eyes, the sharpness of the angle softened by the boyish dimple on his left cheek. 

“Riddle me this: you had sex yet?” 

Randolph shifted, obviously uncomfortable. 

“Alexander, just shut up.” Thomas butted in. And he was using his serious tone now. But Randolph closed his eyes, holding up a hand, the conversation turning from friendly to tense and awkward in three seconds flat.    
“Thomas, it’s fine.” he quickly concluded and opened them to gaze back on the sniper. 

“No. Actually. I haven’t had time to do any experimenting. If you wanted to know. Kinda waiting for the right person.” Randolph opened up, and Alexander closed his eyes blissfully in understanding. Randolph just… stared at him as the kid slowly… dramatically lifted his left arm and laid it across Randolph’s shoulders. It was like the sniper had no sense of when he was making everyone uncomfortable with his bad manners. 

“Let me save you the hassle. You’re gay as shit, man.” he nodded, letting his head fall down to his chest to chortle to himself a bit. Thomas, on the other hand, still hadn’t moved. He hadn’t found the right words to… say anything. Randolph opened his mouth to talk, squinting a bit at Alex, but the kid cut him off. 

“Look, it’s okay. Everyone’s a little bit gay.” he explained condescendlingly with a lifted chin and a comforting tone as he placed his hand up on Randolph’s bathing-suit-clad thigh, “You’re just  _ really  _ fucking gay.” he wheezed, and Randolph just looked at Alex’s hand on his thigh, biting the inside of his own cheek again. 

“Alright, that’s enough, Allie.” Thomas clipped, edging on harsh. He leaned forward with an exhale, voice dry and void of emotion, “If he’s straight, he’s straight. Okay. I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but just cut it the fuck out.” he scoffed, not looking at either of them as he swung his feet onto the floor with a high-pitched squeal of springs, striding by them towards where the bed was deeper in the room. 

“Technically, I still don’t really know if I’m…” the Brazilian tried, but trailed off when he noticed Thomas was listening but not acknowledging. 

For a few moments, Alex and Randolph sat in silence, still close to one another as they watched Thomas, bend over and snatch a pair of pants from his open suitcase--right off the top. His movements were jerky, like he was doing his best to vent and invest his frustration into the physical things he was doing instead of arguing. Alexander knew what Thomas was like when his notorious temper kicked in, but Randolph most likely didn’t. Thomas was never mad around Randolph so far… and this was a first. 

“Lights out. We’re leaving early; I don’t wanna spend a minute more than I have to in this dump.” Thomas spat under his breath, rounding the bed and yanking the covers back from the twin bed so that he could get in. across the room, the teenagers just… stared. 

“You kids brush your teeth and set your alarms.”

Alexander did not take well to commands. He never had, but understandably, nobody in his life had ever disciplined him for back-talking, and so the habit continued. Hence, his lip curled disrespectfully, showing one gemmed canine. 

“The hell’s wrong with  _ you?”  _ he scoffed, peering across Randolph, whose chest was rising and falling steadily. Whose cheeks weren’t blushing in embarrassment nor his fingers fiddling at anything. Once again, Alexander’s hairs raised on the back of his neck…

Randolph was calm.    
Randolph was monitoring the situation.

Alex looked from the other agent to his driver, occupied and distracted, and Thomas placed both hands on the bed, leaning forward a bit to raise his voice at Alexander.  _ Raise  _ his fucking voice.    
“You wanna get smart with me, Allie?” his tone was loud and firm, so utterly serious. Alexander didn’t think he’d ever heard him talk so authoritatively to him. And he was even less inclined to back down. 

Carefully, silently, Randolph raised his hand to place it on the small side table beside the pullout couch where a paper cup of water, the TV remote, an empty Clif Bar wrapper... and Alexander’s earpiece sat, tossed lazily there.

“Might as well, not like pansy-boy over here’s gonna stand up to your douche-ass.” Alexander sneered, still looking around Randolph to see Thomas, who screwed up his lips, “You can tell your virgin boy-toy what to do, but don’t even think about giving me orders, jackass.” 

Thomas--one hand still on the bed--took one lunging step around the corner of it and point ed aggressively at Alexander, hostile now. 

“ _ I’m  _ your legal guardian now, so news flash, sweetheart, I can tell you to do whatever the fuck I want.” he spat the harsh curse word bitterly, not relenting or going easy on Alex in the slightest, “And if you don’t start showing your new partner some respect, we’re gonna have a problem pretty fucking soon, wise-aleck.” he spat, a vein popping in his neck. Randolph’s head was turned to Thomas, and Alex could see his dark hair bounce as he shook it. 

“Thomas, it’s fine, man; just calm down--”   
“No. It’s not. And I’ve gone weeks thinking the little shit was going to grow the fuck up and stop acting like a goddamn baby over this.” Thomas flicked his hand in a wide gesture at the room, at the slowly boiling Alexander and their new partner beside him. Alexander was ready to deliver the final blow. He slowly... slowly tilted his head, all eyes on Thomas.

“Funny. And I’ve gone weeks thinking you were gonna stop drooling over straight boys, but here we fucking are, aren’t we?” 

For a long time… Randolph was the man in the middle, the last thing between Thomas and Alexander’s locked, raging, flaming eyes. Time seemed to tick where the two didn’t even move. The battle was completely silent between them.    
And then Thomas nodded calmly. 

“Alexander, please step outside with me for a moment.” 

The youngest paused. Then he scoffed, head bobbing forward incredulously, “You’ve gotta be shitting me.” 

“Get up. Let’s go.” Thomas clipped and pursed his lips tightly and started to stride swiftly in Alexander’s direction, beckoning to him with the flick of two fingers. Randolph’s eyes widened, and he stood from the squeaky, cheap mattress, getting in Thomas’s way.

Neither saw the Brazilian daintily lift Alexander’s earpiece from the table and tap it once to activate it. 

No one saw as he stepped beside Thomas and slipped it into the open pocket on his swim trunks, planting it there with the driver as he made to exit the room. 

“Guys, come on this is so dumb.” he tried to make eye contact with Thomas, but the tallest breezed right by him, completely ignoring the kid that he would usually give full attention to. 

“Sorry, buddy.” Thomas growled under his breath as he passed Randolph and stopped in front of Alexander.    
“Get up, kid. Now.” he ordered, but Alexander was already rolling his eyes and tucking his long hair behind his ear. He was used to getting a talking-to by Thomas. But the guy was  _ mad.  _

“Unbelievable.” Alexander spat to himself, bouncing both teenagers as he flung himself out of the cramped pullout couch, stepping onto someone’s abandoned jacket on the floor and a foam roller with his bare feet as Thomas stepped forth. 

“I completely agree.” Thomas growled, taking Alexander as he so often did by the scruff of his hoodie, walking the kid beside him as his feet padded on the rough, cheap carpeting. 

“Be ready for bed, Randy, we’ll be back in a second.”   
The teen didn’t respond, just watched from the bed as Alexander snarled something at Thomas and jerked, trying to get away from the man’s grip, but he was an entire foot taller than him and a hundred pounds heavier. One day, Thomas thought. One day, someone was going to teach this kid a lesson. One day someone was going to humble him, but  _ who  _ was the question.

Randolph was blinded by the light as Thomas swiftly transported them to the hotel hallway. The wallpaper was excruciatingly designed with a floral pattern, and the carpet was obviously chosen years before the wallpaper was. The lightning consisted of direct bulbs from above to discourage people from stumbling in drunk or hungover. 

Thomas let the door slam shut behind them, hand still tangled in the blue hood of Alexander’s sweatshirt, and that was the last Randolph saw before he was alone in the silence of the hotel room, able to hear nothing more than the air conditioner and the passing of cars outside the thin window. As soon as he heard the click of the lock, he paused. 

He smiled. 

Randolph reached into the pocket of his swim shorts, digging his fingers down as he sat up on his knees to get a better angle. The tips of his fingers found the black, round nub of his own earpiece as he tapped it once, watching it glow blue for a moment in the dimness of the dingy room. Calmly, collectedly, he pushed aside his waves of raven hair and placed it in the cradle of his right ear. He could almost  _ hear  _ his father’s voice in his head. The charisma, the pride, and it flooded Randolph’s chest with exhilaration. 

_ “Smart boy, Randolph. Be smart.”  _

The kid leaned back against the couch, watching the hockey players weave on the TV as he listened. This had all been planned since the moment he walked in the door. And of course he had seen it through. With a note of static, it tuned in, and he could hear voices through the device. The voices of his partners that had clearly been talking and were near the beginning of their conversation.

“I’m sorry, are you well, Allie?”    
“What?”

There was a shuffle, deafening in Randolph’s ear, and he winced, lowering the volume with one long finger. 

“Are. You. Well? Because I seem to be under the impression that you’re  _ out of your fucking mind.”  _

“It would seem that way, wouldn't it.”    
There was a thump of foot on the carpet. And Randolph heightened the volume gradually, listening through the earpiece to the men whispering. 

“What is your problem with him? I mean, God, just  _ why  _ do you have to be such an ass; what did he ever do, Allie?” Thomas’s tone was so genuine, so blatantly frustrated and tired. 

“He’s trying to be your friend twenty-four-fucking-seven, and you treat him like a piece of shit--”   
“You wanna know something. Thomas?” Alexander clipped, a hint of a growl in his voice. Randolph picked up on all of the cues, every little undertone in his words as he leaned forward, tuning in to the max. 

"I don't; do you want to know something?"  
"Don't interrupt me."   
"No--fucking--" There was a sharp rustle.

“I can read his micro expressions.” The voice was loud. It was clear. There was a pause. Randolph’s heart took a tiny skip in his chest.   
After a long while of breathing, Thomas spoke again, “Congratulations?” he spat.

“He’s  _ lying,  _ you fuck.” there was a short rustle as Alexander drew closer by the way his tone sounded for his next words, “I knew it from the moment we met the little shit, and I laid off. I didn’t say anything cause I thought I was mistaken, but then I realized something, Thomas. I’m never mistaken.” 

Randolph’s soft lips curl into a smile. The sniper’s pride was unwavering. 

“And he is  _ lying  _ about who he is, you ass. Every time he talks, I want to just sock the little fucker in his stupid dimpled face because he’s lying to both of us like he thinks we were born yesterday.” 

“Lower your voice.” Thomas spoke, obviously through gritted teeth, “And you wanna talk about lying? Fine, let’s talk about lying:" he sounded like he was crossing his arms, "I know where you went when we met Randy.”   
There was a brief hesitation. Randolph’s heart took a thrilled beat, pursing his lips to hold back a smile.   
“Excuse me?”

“I know you went to Washington. I know that you busted down his fucking door unannounced just to make an ass of yourself saying the same thing you’re saying to me right now. Know how I know? He gave me a call right after you left because he was concerned about your behavior." Thomas revealed, "And it was humiliating having to apologize for you to the _fucking Director_. My boss, Alexander, to save your ungrateful ass. You’ve done this before and lied about it to my face, and I’m starting to think it’s not about Randolph.” 

“It  _ is _ , listen to me--no--look at me, asshole.”   
“Fine. You wanna tell me what Washington said to you?”   
One second past. Two. Five. Ten. For a few moments, Randolph thought that neither was going to answer. 

“That’s right.” Thomas shifted his weight, “If I remember correctly from his call, he walked you through every fucking step of Emerson’s life starting with his passport to his preschool graduation certificate to his Princeton yearbook photo. So enlighten me, Alex, exactly what part of his life is Randolph lying about?” 

Yet  _ another  _ pause. At this point, Randolph was leaned forward, his breath rising and falling evenly, his eyes focused at a random point on the sheets near his foot, concentrating. 

“Who’s your best friend, Jefferson?” 

Randolph blinked. That wasn’t… the reaction he was expecting to that sort of statement. Before he could think about it, they were talking again, and he had to blink it away, get on track before he missed anything.

“What the hell--”   
“Who. Is your best friend?” Alexander interrupted him, voice firm and tense. Randolph began to feel a creeping sensation of doubt in his spine. He fumbled at the earpiece, pressing it closer to his head as he felt the control slipping back into Alex’s hands. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Suddenly, he wished his father would tell him what to do, which made his cheeks burn with humiliated shame, frustrated. He immediately pushed the thought aside, and his mind ran the diagnostics, pulling through his calculations of the situation. 

There was a swishing of hair as Alexander nodded on the other end of the line.    
“You know the answer to that. When you want to remember who you trust with your pathetic life, come back, and we’ll talk. Until then I’m going to bed.” 

“Don’t pull that with me, Allie.” 

“Pull what?”   
“Hey--”   
“Get off.”    
“ _ Hey.”  _ Thomas barked through the bumping and rustling, the two obviously getting in each other’s way. But Thomas’s final word cut it off. Randolph couldn’t tell if Thomas physically restrained Alex or if it was just his tone that ended the squabbling. 

“You are.” Thomas rumbled. There was only the sound of breathing and a sound of a door slamming somewhere down the hall. The two waited awkwardly before they heard the elevator ding shut until they talked again. 

“You are… stupid, and arrogant. And I hate you ninety percent of the time, but you’re my best friend. Alright? Happy?”   
“Okay, then  _ listen  _ to me, Thomas--”

“No.” he interjected, “I _ have _ listened to you. It’s your turn to be the bigger person here; I’m sick and tired of having to play peacekeeper between you two like I’m your babysitter, cause I’m fucking not.” Thomas changed his tone when he sensed he was losing Alexander through his condescension.

“Look, you can hate him. You can do whatever the hell _you_ want like you always do. But please, Allie, can you just…” he obviously was so frustrated, so irritated and exasperated with himself and Alexander, “Try?” 

Randolph licked his lips. This was perfect. Creating a rift between them would have been ideal in order to retain Thomas’s trust if Alexander’s was off the table. But now… it seemed both would be an option. Randolph’s heart was beating in anticipating excitement, biting his bottom lip. He wished his father could hear this conversation, see this happening. 

“Don’t expect too much. Cause you won’t get it.” Alex grumbled. The sniper had given in to Thomas's request.

Randolph’s face split into a smile. His work tonight was done. The trio was sealed.

In the dim light of the room, the deep dimple, the glint of the stunning, striking dark eyes and the suave black hair... one could almost imagine him standing in a Victorian Era waistcoat with this triumphant, proud look on his face. He wouldn't look out of place at all.

Cunning, calm. One could almost imagine him staring down from a mantled portrait, a golden pocket watch snaking across his hip.  O ne arm rested leisurely on the plush arm of a couch, the other grasping an ornate cane.

One could almost imagine the silver peeking of a flintlock gun resting casually in his propped, relaxed hand. Waiting. Waiting for its moment...

  
  



	22. Weightless for a Moment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO, SO sorry for the long wait on this chapter! I just got a new snake, and he required a lot of care and preparation that took up tons of time, not to mention this was the first week of school for me! 
> 
> Don't worry! I'm up and running again like usual, am beginning to get into the groove of school during these times, and so happy to be back at writing like I love to be. Phew! 😄
> 
> Stay tuned for next chapter! I'll be there! :D 😄😊💕 Thank you so much for your patience and support, as always. I love you guys 💕

**February 2, 2059**

“Mom…” Alex whispered, not daring to even turn his head. She didn’t seem to hear him, and so he clenched his teeth, trying his best not to smile,

“Mom. Look.” he whispered sharply, and she looked up from the pink phone case she was holding in her hand, her knuckles to her mouth. She sat on the couch in the main room that served as a living room and kitchen alike. And Alex’s bedroom. There was a bedsheet over the couch, always had been for as long as either could remember, and now she sat on it with her legs crossed in her cheap, rhinestone embellished jeans that his dad always said made her look trashy, but Alex told her not to listen. She looked beautiful in anything she wore, even if she was a lean woman with hip-dips and thinning hair. 

She kept her knuckles on her lips as she looked up from her phone and over to Alex, who was laying at the foot of the couch on the floor. His long hair was splayed out around him, and his blue eyes didn’t even blinked as he smiled at the calico kitten on his chest. Rachel felt dread in her heart… but for the moment she couldn’t help the smile spreading across her face, splitting through her frown. 

“Oh…” she breathed, careful to be quiet at Alexander silently shushing her with a finger to his lips before raising his hand towards the kitten. Rachel just watched him with adoration twinkling in her tired eyes. Her son was eleven years old, and from the day he could walk he had this sort of fondness and sympathy for living creatures, especially the abandoned ones. The ones that teenagers tied tin cans to and made run for their entertainment, or the street pigeons that had gum spat on their wings by passersbies. 

Today was no exception when she had walked him to the bus stop from the principal’s office after school again, and they had heard the mewling from underneath someone’s car. Alex spent two hours outside trying to get her to come out from where she was trapped with nothing but a slice of spam meat and his coaxing little voice, the street traffic giving him sideways glances as they passed. 

Rachel couldn’t say no to her son holding a scrawny, pathetic kitten in his own skinny arms, matted with city sludge, mud and mewling pitifully in little squeaks, mouth parting to show a pink tongue, gingivitis, and tiny rows of teeth. It was an ugly little runt, too small to have survived and sporting a crooked jaw, but Alex seemed not to have noticed. He cradled her against his chest, speaking only to the creature as they walked home, the kid already buzzing with excitement and plans for where she would sleep and eat and how he would train her. 

Now both Alex and the feline were clean after a sink wash, and it rested on his chest, eyes closed and squinting like a little buddha. Alexander smiled through his braces he had received last week, his teeth hopelessly crooked, and placed his hand atop her head, pressing her ears down and back as he stroked over her blotchy-colored orange and brown fur. It was amazing how he had gotten the skittish creature to fall asleep right on top of his chest. He had the right to feel proud about that.

“Hey there…” he whispered, craning to peek at her pink nose, “Feel better after a shower?” he inquired, stroking her again, and Rachel put her phone down, leaning against the arm of the couch and propping her chin up on her hand, spectating the sight of Alexander in his oversized T-shirt she had picked up from the clearance at the thrift store and his knobby little knees. She couldn’t shake off the dread…the dread that was to come, but she had to savor this moment. For Alex at least, and for herself to remember that there were these moments in her life. There were moments where it was just her and her happy little baby that she would never cease to try and fatten up despite his body's stubbornness.

She smiled, trying her best with her weary face, dark circles that seemed permanent under both eyes. She hadn't known that it was possible to be so in love with another human being. She had known that one night eleven years ago before Alexander was alive, and now... she knew the feeling again. Every time she looked at him, she wished there was something she could say that wouldn't receive an eye roll; she wished there was anything she could say to express how loved he would always be. 

“What’re you gonna name him, baby?” she inquired softly, looking down upon them as she pulled her legs up onto the couch, folding them under her on top of the sheet that Alex slept on. Her son smiled, finally turning just his sparkling, icy eyes over to meet her hazel ones. Light brown with flecks of green suspended within the gold. They both had beautiful, contrasting eyes, but Alexander had his father’s eyes. That much Rachel knew...

“Calico.” Alexander spoke, lifting both hands to hold the cat at the middle, who rumbled an astoundingly loud purr for one of her size. Rachel flicked her thin brows down as she leaned over; the couch was low to the ground, so it wasn’t hard for her to sift Alexander’s soft hair through her fingers. Her own hair had been damaged from bleaching in high school, but Alexander's was so supple, silky even. 

“You’re naming her Calico?” She confirmed, stroking his temple as she ran his locks between her fingers, and Alex just smiled. Rachel thought she would miss those snaggle teeth when the braces had fixed them up, but he deserved them. She had hated watching him cry in front of the sink with frustration and wads of toilet paper when an adult tooth came poking through the side of his gums because another one was overcrowded and in the way of its entry. The dentist bill was expensive. 

But as she came back for another stroke, pushing his hair back and softly cupping his forehead before running them through again, she knew it was worth it; Alexander was worth the world--he was worth more than the world. Even if his dad never would think so.

“Yeah. Calico.” he rubbed her sides, ruffling up her hair so that she got uncomfortable and stood, but Alex pulled her back down to his chest, holding her there, “It’s just her name; I knew it when I saw her. And it’s already stuck, so there's no changing it now.” She gave him a soft smile. 

“Your pet, your decision. Your responsibility too.” she added with a dark glance, but still a playful glint in her eye. Alex rolled his, and she got more serious for a moment.    
“That means making a litter box for her and  _ cleaning it _ .” she emphasized, and Alex curled his lip, starting to show his attitude that tended to get him in trouble. Usually, he was a sweet boy with a little tendency for trickery and attitude beneath it.

“Mom…” he trailed off, trying to keep a hold of a squirming Calico, but Rachel went on.    
“Don’t ‘mom’ me. You’re not five, baby. You’re ready for a kitten if I say you are…” her voice fizzled to a stop, slowing down as her phone lit up on the couch beside her. 

Alexander’s eyes followed, and he felt his heart begin to thump… thump… in his chest. For a few moments, even their crowded apartment building felt silent. It was so, so quiet.

“And what does Dad say…?” Alex inquired softly, light seeping from his eyes. 

The tone Alex used… it broke Rachel’s heart. It was so numb, so weathered at eleven years old, and she hated her husband for it. For the sinking his mention caused in Alexander’s heart, stealing the happiness directly from those bright eyes that she _adored_. And recently, being angry and defensive of her baby, a constant war, had been slowly chipping away at her. She found herself a little more exhausted each day as she dragged herself to bed--James absent more often than not so that she could call Alexander to cuddle up, kiss his forehead and wish that there was more meat on those bones. But she’d never let Alex see. Never--if it was the last thing she ever did--would she let her. Baby. See his mama as anything but _strong_ for him.

She pursed her lips, tasting her cheap lip gloss that was supposed to be cherry scented,

“He doesn’t get a say.” her voice was quiet, and she knew what she was saying was right.

But at the same time, Alex’s dad would get a say. The final say, whether anyone liked it or not. Carefully, Alex sat up, setting the kitten between his thighs that he folded loosely into criss cross. He looked so… tired, just like she did now. Rachel had that motherly instinct to protect her Allie, but she felt so utterly useless no matter what she did, and she was struggling to find the answers. Alexander ground his jaw, playing with a hole at the toe of his sock. She wished he'd stop wearing those.

“He’s gonna yell at you again.” Alexander’s quiet monotone,  _ shattered  _ Rachel’s hard into broken,  _ broken  _ pieces. It was indescribably. Unmentionable. 

Alex lifted his eyes up to her on the couch, “Because of me.”    
There was a lump in her throat, but not out of purely sorrow. There was anguished loathing for what James Hamilton had done to her son. Before she could even speak, she was shaking her head.

“No. No, baby.” she shook her head firmly, voice nearly cracking as she tried to move down towards him on the ground once again, sliding off the couch as she set down her jean-clad knees on the cream carpet and tried to hold Alex’s face, but he shied away. She hated,  _ hated  _ how Alexander had become head-shy ever since school had started. 

Nevertheless, she caught him in her hands against his will, running, raking her cold fingers through his beautiful hair. She needed to feel him, her beautiful son that didn't know he was beautiful because of his father's words.

“Daddy loves you; he’s just working through some things--”   
“Just,” Alex shook his head, “Mom. Stop. Mrs. Schmidt called Dad first from the principal’s office; he knows. He’s gonna yell. And he’s gonna take Calico away, and he’s not going to remember squat shit in the morning.” 

He ran the heel of his palm over his eye as if he was tired, just wanted to go to sleep, "And stop saying he loves me." he mumbled.

“Alexander Hamilton.” she cut off the end of his word tersely, shocked at the language he was using, Alex’s eyes welled with a darkness. A deep, seething darkness that she had never seen in her own eyes nor his father’s. She knew there was only one place he could have received such a darkness. She opened her mouth, brushing her thumbs over his face. She was panicking, and more than anything she _ached, keened_ to have the words. To find the right words in any human language to tell him that he was loved. And he was... _smart,_ and he was _worth loving._ but that was when the door jerked open with a jangle of keys. 

They knew what was coming.

Two heads snapped to the side, peering over the top of the couch and anxiously awaiting the arrival. Two hearts plummeted with a wave of dread as the silhouette in the hallways light displayed who had entered, casting the cold slice of light over the dimmed living room. Alexander knew that the night was over. Any hope snuffed out like a candle in the rain.

Alex could almost smell his reek from where he sat, and his lip curled. But he remained in silence, trying to be defiant when he was really just afraid. The hallways light shone down upon Alexander Hamilton’s father, James, illuminating his sparse tufts of hair like a dark halo about his stubby head. 

James Hamilton was a tall man, unlike Alex, and he was completed with curly, black, unshaven chest hair peeking from behind his white, yellow-sweat-stained tank top that seemed to be his official uniform. An annually growing beer belly showed above his loose jeans as he lumbered heavily into the room, taking only one step before Alexander and his mother understood the obvious. He was, of course, drunk. Alex could tell in his movements, the way he was going overboard not to stagger. The way his eyes weren't particularly focused, the manner in which he held his arms at his sides.

The man had thin, curly hair that was black and already balding from the top even though he was twenty-nine and Rachel twenty-seven. He sported a hanging lower lip that always gave a good view of his bottom teeth, and did not have hazel eyes like Rachel, or icy blue like Alexander. His were a deep, muddy brownish color. The farthest from light blue they could ever get. Sometimes it felt like the eyes in their family was the bane of each of their existences. 

Tonight there was a rusty stain across the front of his shirt, and he looked around the room like a dumb pig, like he was trying to focus his eyes on something. He breathed like he had run up the one flight of stairs that led to their second story apartment and was already winded. The kitten in Alex’s lap, squirmed, but he hushed her with his pressing hands, holding her still, and she actually fell quiet as if she understood the situation-- knew what was coming. He could feel her breathing against his arms, her fur warm and her little heart beating in her chest. It wasn’t the only one. 

There was a squealing creak, and both young Alexander and his mother jolted, flinched as James flung the door closed behind him with a BANG, stepping in yet another haphazard stride as the boom reverberated in the air, vibrating. Alex tried to exchange a glance with his mother, read her face as he could so easily do with people, but she was paralyzed. She wasn’t moving, and it _scared_ Alex. The man’s belly jiggled slightly as he pointed at Alexander, baring his teeth. 

“You.” he spat, voice gravelly and deep as it had ever been. Alex’s heart swooped down into his guts. He couldn't breathe. His father wiped an arm over his mouth before going on, “You got something you’d like to say to me, you little punk?” he slurred in his thick New Jersey accent, blinking as he spoke, and Alex knew. He knew they were all in trouble. His dad was always drunk, but tonight was one of those nights where he was on the hard stuff--when he wasn’t angry like usual. He was furious. 

Rachel shook her head and twisted so that she was facing over the back of the couch.

“Don’t you dare walk into this door and start talking to my son--” she raised her voice, and this time James pointed at her.    
“You shut up, I’m talkin’ to the kid.” he barked violently, turning his gaze back to Alex. He sniffed, and Alexander’s blood pressure gradually rose as his dad took slow… slow steps towards him from across the room, feet thunking down on the carpet heavily. 

“Wanna tell me why I got a call from some ass-hat at the school in the middle of my poker game tellin’ me ya hit someone’s kid? I had to forfeit cause of you, little shit.”   
“That’s what you care about.” Rachel nodded, pursed lips and shaking her head in relish, “your goddamn poker game--” she spoke through gritted teeth.

“I said  _ shut the fuck up--” _ he boomed at her, so loud that Alex flinched, and scrambled backwards on pure instinct, adrenaline slicing through him as he stood up and stumbled over his own feet until he was standing. He hugged the kitten to his shoulder, holding her under her back paws for support as she mewled. And even though the light was dim… Alexander saw his father slowly squint. And he finally saw Calico. 

Alexander could only watch helplessly in dreading disgust as his father's stupid brain took a few silent seconds to comprehend what was in front of him.

“What... the hell is that?” he whispered, and the kitten mewled again, kicking her legs against Alex and grappling onto his T-shirt with her claws, trying to move restlessly away, but Alex just held her tighter, clinging to her like she was the only thing that was safe. His dad swung his head over to Rachel, who was moving to stand from the sheeted couch. 

“What the fuck is that, Rachel?” he snarled, and she finally stood. 

“Don’t use that language around our son.” she pointed at him with a jabbing finger, and he lashed right back.    
“ _Your_ damn son, fucking bitch.”

“You know what? We’re not doing this now.” she held up her hands, shaking her head curtly, her ponytail brushing over her shoulders, “You’re drunk, and  _ that _ is your kid’s first pet. Take it in, James, because he’s keeping it.” she affirmed strongly, and James went quiet. It was like he was too drunk to even think straight about what he had just heard, and needed a full minute to let it sink in.

There was only the huffing sound of his ragged, rancid breathing, and they could both smell the reek of alcohol filling up the room, just effusing out of his pores and his breath. He just… stared at Alex, cowering near the back of the room where the sparse kitchenette was, littered with dirty dishes stacked in the sink that nobody was around enough to wash. Rachel sighed, running both her hands over her face in exhaustion as she spoke her next words. 

“Baby, bring Calico to the bedroom.” she said behind her hands.   
Alex’s brows swooped down, but he knew this drill too well. A part of him wanted to stay. A part of him needed to stand at his mother's side and fight with her, fight for her. He knew how this went. And he was helpless, useless. 

With only a grunt, he turned away, squeezing that cat against him as he bit his lip, bit back the shameful tears and speed-walked across the room, his parents standing off on opposite sides. his bare feet thumped on the carpet that had come with the place as he reached the knob and wrenched open the door to the only bedroom in the apartment. The empty walls seemed to mock him as ducked inside and slammed the door behind him, closed off in his little box as if he was the one being punished for his parent's problems. For his own fucking birth. 

And he was alone. Utterly… utterly alone. Just himself and the four weirdly stained walls of the tiny room, mostly taken up by bed and the cramped window above it, curtains blowing in the slight breeze as it remained ajar. 

As soon as he had closed the door behind him, he let out a shaky breath, pressing his back against the door. He looked out across the room, the emptiness as he slowly… slowly slid down. He wasn't trying to; he was just so tired that he couldn't help it. He was just so... tired of this. His shirt rode up with his sweatshirt on his small back, but he lowered in exhaustion, sitting down on the floor. He could already hear the familiar, dreaded sound.

Muffled arguing through walls. 

His parents fighting as usual, and no matter how muffled, no matter where he was in the crammed, cigarette-reeking apartment building he could hear every word. Every word. He knew this feeling too well, of being unable to sleep because even if they weren't fighting, he would hear things in his mind, hear voices, and bolt upright only to find that things were silent. It was just his overactive imagination. He wished it was his imagination now, but it was real. He bit his lip, and felt the sharp end of his new braces bracket dig into his skin.

“Hey.” he sniffled, forcing a smile as he placed Calico down on the floor, and she turned big eyes up to him, pupils wide in the dimness of the room. he dipped her over his leg so that she could walk off, and as soon as he put her on the carpet, she laid on the stained rug and rolled over, stretching and showing her belly, rubbing her back on the floor to scratch herself.

He laughed at her, but he still felt an aching obstruction in his throat, swelling like a blockage. He looked up at the popcorn ceiling, fending off the prickling tingle of tears before he returned back to look at his new cat and smiled again for her sake. When he was in here, at least, he was safe. His little box.

“Hey, you wanna see a card trick, girl?” he asked her, and to his surprise, she rolled over yet again, squeaking as she did so. Alexander sniffed again--probably the incurable cold he had had on-and-off for the whole month--and stood, strolling over to the metal filing cabinet his mom used as a dresser for her clothes. Alex had to keep his in a cabinet in the kitchen under the sink. He pulled open the bottom one from the cold handle and just kept talking to Calico. Because through the walls, he could hear the yells--the deep booming base of his dad’s gravelly, drunken ranting, and the shrillness of his mother’s retorts. 

“Who’s gonna pay for it? Huh? Who’s gonna pay? Sure as hell’s not me.”   
“Oh for the love of God, you spend enough a week to fund a whole  _ shelter,  _ James.” 

Alex slid open the drawer with a “shunk!” and fished around a collection of unfolded socks, underwear, and bras before he found the rectangular packaging he was searching for near the back corner, not even the size of an Iphone 5. 

“Here it is.” he whispered to Calico, looking over his shoulder as he pushed the drawer closed with his palm and crawled on all fours over to her, palms digging into the carpet that had random rough, coarse patches that he didn't want to know what from.

In his hands, he held an old, yellowed pack of cards. They were his mother’s cards, and before her they were his mother’s mother’s cards, passed down from mother to daughter for generations, and now to son. Some corners were bent, and others looked like they were cracking across the faces of the kings and queens, but they were sturdy and classic red and white--they could last anyone for years and years to come. With a rustle, he filed open the lid of the box and poured the stack into his hand neatly, remembering the technique he had been taught.

“Mom works at a hotel casino--she's a card dealer. Last summer she taught me all the tricks she’s learned, so I can show you a few.” Alex explained, giving Calico a glimpse of his amethyst eyes before shuffling the deck with a ripping sound of leafing cards, knowing the movements well.

He sat on his own heels with a bounce, rocking to get comfortable as he set the stack the floor, face down, "I know how to play most games too, but I just don't think you do. So tricks it is." he sniffed, sweeping his hand over the stack so that it was spread evenly in a hauntingly symmetrical arch.

As he set everything up, he heard every bark through the wall. 

“You think I wanna nother rat running around my house? ‘M still tryna get rid of the  _ last one  _ you dragged in here.”   
“Don’t you dare…” there was a thumping of feet, and Alex squeezed his eyes shut, just remembering the movements, sweeping the cards back into his hands and letting his memory guide him, “Don’t you  _ dare  _ talk about Allie like that.” 

He breathed. Tried to breathe as he only felt the cards in his hands. Listened to Calico bring him safety and comfort. Safety and comfort. His moorings were the cards, the complex movements that he knew by heart as his own pounded in his chest, trying to tune them out and just focus on Calico. Her round eyes following his hands like she would pounce.

“I’ll talk about your whore-baby however the  _ fuck  _ I want.” Alex winced, swallowing the lump again, but this time it was more desperate. He didn’t think it would get this bad; usually he could cope with this just fine, but something about tonight… He almost felt something brewing. Something was going to happen tonight; he could feel it. 

He opened his eyes to see Calico purring. She didn’t know what was going on. She was ignorant, innocent and clueless. What Alexander would give… 

“You. Are. Acting  _ like a child--” _

“Whore-baby.”

“James, I swear to G--”   
“Whore.” he yelled, “Baby. You know, yeah, Rachel, let’s do this now, huh? Huh?” he slurred, and there was another thump followed by a skittering series of steps like someone had tried to jump out of the way. Alexander breathed, squeezing his eyes shut as he let the breeze fall across his face. They didn’t have any air conditioning--their unit had broken in the fall--so they left the single window they had open wide to let the cool breeze of Harlem, New York into their apartment.

“Let’s do this now. You son of a bitch.” 

“He’s your  _ son,  _ James!” his mother’s voice broke with a ripping scream, and there was a crash that followed. A shattering of glass. 

Alexander shuffled the cards again, moving them with incredible dexterity for his age. This wasn't real. He was safe; he was in his box. Not real, not real, not real...

“Your  _ son!  _ Please, God, love him!” she begged, voice raised to a shriek, “He needs a  _ father. He needs a father,  _ and you come home once a  _ month  _ for the rent money  _ I  _ earn to feed money into that ridiculous place.” 

There was a smack of palm on drywall before his dad boomed with rage.

“La Dimora is none of your business, Rachel. ‘Nd you wanna talk about a father? That little snot-nosed punk can go find his  _ real  _ dad if he’s pissing the bed for one.”   
“You  _ are  _ his real father, James I swear to God!--”

“DON’T LIE TO ME.” There was another deafening crash, and a short scream from his mom before the man boomed again, “WHORE.”

More ragged panting from his father like an animal, and silence, the trembling cries of his mother, short sobs. She didn’t seem hurt, just scared from the sounds of it. But Alexander was paralyzed. He felt the tears well up in his eyes, and his lips were parted as he listened. Listened to the same argument he had heard over… and over and over again. He almost knew the next line that was coming. He knew it that well. 

“That little punk is no son of mine. He’s a bastard skank-baby with some dirtbag, baby-daddy’s eyes cause you’re a dog-fucking  _ whore,  _ Rachel.”   
“God,  _ don’t _ , James.”

“Explain the little shit’s blue eyes, huh? I don’t see a blue eye in your entire fucking family tree or mine, you hooker bitch. And your little runaway to Bald Head Island when you were sixteen.” Alex hated this part. He dreaded it.

“Came back knocked up and begging me to let you stay. Remember that?”   
“He’s your baby! He’s our  _ baby,  _ he needs you to love him.” 

There was a snort, and a tinkle of glass on the ground, shards skidding as someone waded through them.

“My ass if I’m gonna love another dude’s leftovers. I don’t want him in my house. I don’t want either of you in my house. He’s someone else’s trash living off my goddamn money like he has any right to live in my house. Let alone bringing that scrappy piece of  _ shit  _ under my roof.” his bumbling words ended in a loud and incoherent slur and pant, tongue heavy with alcohol. But the thump of footsteps grew louder. 

“No--James--Don’t  _ touch  _ him, bastard!” Rachel screamed, cutting herself off twice like James had pushed her out of the way. Now, Alexander knew what was going on. He knew something was wrong. 

Eyes shooting open, he tucked the only card he was holding between his fingers into his pocket, stuffing it down there as he rapidly unfolded his legs, scrambling. He felt it crinkle and bend against his hand, giving him a paper cut, but he had to get out of there. He had to run. The crashing of furniture being shoved out of the way, legs scraping on the floor filled the tiny apartment along with his mother’s shouts. 

“Don’t go near my baby, you bastard!” she shrieked through tears, but just as Alexander bent over, already stumbling into a run and scooped up Calico in his arms as he tripped over his own feet, never agile with his knobby knees and ankles. She squeaked, yowling in surprise and trying to escape, but Alex had her tight, clambering up onto the bed, trying not to bounce either of them as he scrambled.

He sucked in breath desperately, trying to keep his composure as the door to the bedroom burst open, slamming against the wall and breaking a dent into the drywall behind it with a shower of dust to the floor as it flung back and rebounded. Alex couldn’t contain the yelp of surprise as he stumbled back on top of the floral-patterned bed his mother insisted on making every day, neat and clean despite their living conditions. His vision blurred with tears, making his pale, arctic eyes and braces glow in the shine of the streetlight directly outside their apartment. His father loomed in the doorway, lumbering precariously inside the bedroom. Alexander’s heart pounded madly in his chest, and he thought it would explode. 

“Dad--Dad, stop.” Alexander’s voice was shaky, uncharacteristic of the confident boy, “Stop!” he yelled as his dad lunged for him, going for Calico. Alex cried out, scrambling away as his dad leaned over the bed and flung his hand out at anything, clinging onto Alexander’s ankle before the boy could pull away, tearing away from him and squirreling up into the windowsill that he could fit in due to his lack of side, hoping it would protect him.

But his father huffed, grunting with the rancid odor of alcohol burning Alexander’s nose as he crawled up onto the bed, chasing him as his mother was nowhere in sight. 

“Give me the rat, you little shit.” The man slurred, reaching again for any part of Alex or Calico and missing. All the boy could see in the low light was the reflection of the street lamp in his father’s dark eyes, the puff of thinning, curly hair upon his head and the white of his tank top. He held Calico with one arm, cradling her as best as he possibly could as he reached the other one behind him to hold the windowsill for support, chest heaving violently with loud, high-pitched gasps, trying to breath through the adrenaline, through the terror.

"Mom!" he screamed, and after it a sob tore his lungs, breaking free from his chest. He squeezed Calico, tears blurring his vision, "Mom-m!" he sobbed another scream. 

His mom burst into the room just as Alexander reached behind him on the window ledge, and his hand missed its mark. 

Just as his eyes widened, and all of his weight went backwards. She fell towards the bed, trying to run to him, face contorting.

_ “Allie!”  _ her scream was the most genuinely horrified he had ever experienced, past and present. It wasn’t feminine or graceful. Wasn’t dramatic. Just the pure, gravelly, throat-shredding scream of a mother watching her child fall from the second story window, his father terrorizing him from the bed. 

And fell, he did. 

For a long time, the world was still. The world had never been still.

All Alex could remember was the sensation of being weightless. The sensation of being so utterly light that nothing could touch him. No rules applied to him, because he was flying. Everything was so… slow. 

His hair fluttering around his head, caressing his ears, the flail of his legs. He remembered seeing through the window as if looking at a still painting. A Renaissance exaggeration of reality--the look of intoxicated surprise on his dad’s stubbly, large-lipped face. The anguished shriek of his mom trying to come and save him. They were all frozen in time. It all happened in slow motion, all time stopped except for Alexander holding his kitten in his arms, protecting her from the fall.

Would it be so bad if she survived and he didn’t? Certainly, most people wouldn’t mind. 

But the look on his mother’s face… As he fell in the utter silence, utter stillness, he suddenly wanted to reach out, to smile. Of course she didn’t know, but he was going to be alright. He wished he could tell her that he was okay. He was weightless; he couldn't fall. It would be okay. He couldn’t fall, not today, not ever. 

Yet fall, he did. 

The weightlessness lasted an eternity in his mind, but a split second in reality. The silence fell away, replaced by a whisper that grew... grew to a roar of whistling, screaming wind by his ears, filling his head like a hurricane. His stomach dropped, there was nothing under him as he plummeted...plummeted down a full story, crashing directly into the only bush the apartment building managed to have. It wasn’t planted intentionally, it had just grown there at some point, and it had never once been trimmed. A scraggly, leafless thing, that Alexander and his mother often made fun of as they passed, and little did they know that one day--today--it would come to save him despite their picking fun.

Alexander came down onto it, the branches breaking his fall. There was a split second of deafening crackling, sharp  _ snaps  _ of shattering and cracking sticks all around him, destroying the bush completely before he finally thudded to the ground with an impact enough to crack his skull. To shatter his bones, yet he did not die. But Alex didn't know that until seconds later.

The wind was knocked out of him, and he saw stars in his vision, completely unable to breathe. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out; it was like a building was sitting on his chest, and no one was there to hear him. He couldn't breathe. He could feel the warmth of tears trickling down into his hair...

He only had one thought: what had happened? One moment he was floating, drifting. There were no boundaries. And then the next moment he was… here. On the ground, staring up at the sky from the lowest point he had ever been. It didn’t make any sense, especially not now as he struggled to pull air into his lungs, mouth wide open, eyes wide open and gasping for air. He just needed air. 

Why was there no air?

He couldn't’ feel the pain at the moment--too much adrenaline coursing through his veins--but he could feel the warmth. There were sticks in his hair and dust in his mouth, drying it and filling it with the disgusting tang of street filth that he knew well from being thrown down in the street at school. Yet he didn’t comprehend the gaping gash on the back of his neck that was leaking out beneath him into the dirty ground between building and sidewalk.

He just felt it… seeping out of him, the warm slickness of the blood as he tried to breathe. The stinging behind his neck would come soon, but not yet. The knowledge of a scar he would bear from the rest of his days would dawn on him soon. But not yet. 

There was only the night and him. The night was so clear to him when he was down here; he'd never noticed before… He could see everything. 

The orange, rusty glow of the light pollution of the streets, the lamp above him and the cracked side of the building looming, covering him with its shadow. As he struggled to breathe, that was when his eyes focused on it... something in the sky.

For a moment, he thought there was a leaf fluttering down from the heavens before he remembered that there weren’t any trees nearby, not for miles. It drifted softly, falling as a piece of paper would as it flittered and twirled in the air, taking its time as it grew and finally landed on his shoulder and rested--the shoulder where Calico wasn’t clinging madly and mewling out of complete fear, hair standing on end. 

Alex turned his eyes to peer at what had descended on the same fall he had just endured and survived, only to see a patch of red in his eyes. Red, and creamy white. 

It was a… playing card. The playing card that he himself had shoved in his pocket, one bent corner before he had fallen. 

  
The eight of hearts. 

Something about the way it had descended upon him… it struck him. It stuck in his mind, unable to be removed from that day and every day that would follow. Alex had always been a more sentimental kid than anyone around him, more mature in his thoughts and quiet intelligence. They didn’t understand symbolism as well as he, and so he kept quiet about it, always noticing the little things from the sidelines. 

But as he clung to his kitten, the back of his neck dripping blood around him, soaking his shirt and warming him against the freezing, hard ground as he stared at the orange, city sky, he knew that he was lucky to have survived anything like that. Something tonight had kept him alive that night.

Somehow, he kept on surviving. From that day on, breath curling in an icy cloud up to the chilly, arctic Harlem sky, Alexander adopted eight as his lucky number, keeping it close to him. And it never failed him once.

He adopted the scar that would forever remain on the back of his neck, branding his trauma to him until he died, marking him as tainted. 

And he adopted a twisted view of the world that would take so much more than an apology to shake….

He knew he was abnormal. He had always known that something about him was different from the moment he could talk. But as he lay there unable to move yet, hardly even hearing his mother wail from above, he didn’t even comprehend his abnormality when the thought rang through his head. For the first time… he wasn’t aware of the insanity that would nestle calmly in his mind, not consuming him, but rather becoming an integral part of him--not a deranged part, a… frighteningly intelligent part. 

He was going to kill that man in the window for coming near his mother. For coming near him. 

As he held his trembling kitten, his last morsel of safety, he coolly acknowledged his plans and intentions like it was a business affair. Just a chore to get done before watching Saturday morning TV. He was going to slaughter him like the animal he was.

It was common knowledge to him and to anyone who saw him. Alexander was not James’s son. Even if Alexander didn’t possess the trademark of the crystal eyes, he could feel it. That man was not his father. And he was going to enjoy every second of watching him die. 

If he ever got the chance to walk out of a courtroom for it, he would smile right at the camera, he knew at that moment; it was all planned and ready. He was going to show them what would happen to those that crossed ways with Alexander Hamilton and the only person he loved. 

* * *

“Fuck, fuck fuck fuck,  _ fuuuuuuck _ .” Alexander growled through gritted teeth, leaning forward as if it would help any part of his case. He sat on the carpeted floor at the foot of his bed, leaned against it while his eyes were trained on the huge plasma screen TV in front of him. The room was loud with the various sounds, songs, and beeps of MarioKart as well as the clicking of gamecube controllers in Alexander and John Laurens’s hands. Well, John had the Wii remote because Alex always called first on the gamecube. 

Scattered around them was the empty paper bags and wrappers from Panera lunch and the rest of the junk food Alexander always had lying around to Thomas’s mild disapproval. It smelled like lunch in there too, which added to the gaming, childish ambiance. 

“You in a Bullet Bill?” Alex inquired, eyes still glinting with the images of the split screen in front of them, concentrating. 

“Yeah.” John responded, shifting his weight on the floor and accidentally putting his ass on a paper bag that crunched. 

“Chip me.” Alexander requested, opening his mouth wide as John sighed, reaching into a bag of Lay’s salt and vinegar between them to place one on Alexander’s tongue until he crunched around it, and John had to replace his hands on his Wii remote before the Bullet Bill ran out. The two were more than familiar with the ancient game and the ancient console that they had set up. They played it all the time in Harlem after John had found one and gifted it to Alexander from a thrift shop. They’d wiped the memory and since unlocked basically everything there was to possibly unlock, characters and carts, but when Alex had been detained the previous year, it had been confiscated and wiped once again. So now John and Alex had themselves a little leisure project if they so pleased. 

Alexander had been cold from his bath earlier, but now he was warm and comfortable in grey sweatpants and Thomas’s sweatshirt that he had refused to take off. He had to roll the sleeves halfway up his forearms before they would stay in place for him to work the controller properly, but it was something about the scent. It was just simply so…  _ Thomas.  _ Not just his cologne, per se, but it somehow smelled just like Thomas did.  And so cozy. John was in casual-wear too, his Nike socks, shorts, and blue New York Rangers hoodie since Mondays were his days off and the Rangers were playing in the evening.

Alex shook his head in disgust as he watched his character spin on a banana a player had just dropped. 

“There is nothing on this green earth that fills me with such ungodly, chaotic rage as Baby Peach.” Alexander shook his head, mouth still slightly open in concentration as he pressed the buttons hard, clicking and clacking as he steered. John crossed his legs so that their knees bumped together. 

“Butthurt?” John shook his remote for a boost and it played a tinny tone from it, adding to the noise of explosions and car sounds. Alex tossed a flyaway out of his eyes; he’d put it back into his little short ponytail that he could manage with barely shoulder-length hair, but there were always strands that fell to his face. 

“I’m not butthurt, she’s just a lil’ bitch. And I’m in second place on the last lap; I’ll be fine.” he scoffed cockily. John held back a laugh.   
“Yeah but not for long.” the older one mumbled, pressing hard onto the B button to throw a red shell up at Alex.

The younger’s eyes widened.

“No.  _ No _ \--” but it had already sounded the annoying alarm on the screen and hit him right before the finish line on Maple Treeway. Alexander tossed his remote down on the floor as soon as he had finished, way back in eighth place now as John cackled next to him. It tumbled to the ground with a clatter as John set his down and clapped loudly to himself. 

“Ohhh what a round, man.” 

“You’re dead. Fucking deader than any dead animal that has ever died.” Alexander grumbled disgruntledly to himself and picked up his phone off the carpet to his side. John snorted, doing the same to check the time. The older sighed, noting that it was already one in the afternoon and they’d been playing for an hour. It had been a long… long time since he’d been able to do this with Alexander. It almost felt a lifetime away now that they were doing it again, just pretending to be kids when they knew the world around them was slowly… quietly closing in. 

“As dead as I will ever be, I’ll never be as dead as your asshole right now.” he smiled tightly, clicking off his phone to set it back down in the deep carpet as he swung his head over to Alexander with pursed lips. Alex just rubbed the palm of his hand over his face and shuffled on the pillow he was sitting on. He’d played a few minutes on the floor before yanking his pillow off the bed because his ass hurt so fucking much. He rubbed his hand over his eyes, still tired and bleary from falling asleep for a brief fifteen minutes with Thomas. 

“Mm.” he huffed, muffled behind his hand, “I feel like there’s a weed whacker shoved up my butt.” 

“Well.” John pulled forward one of the half-empty red Gatorade bottles with his foot, contents sloshing, “Classic example of ‘careful what you wish for’.” he bent forward, the light of the screen going out for a minute before flashing on his face once again with the MarioKart theme music playing cheerily. Alex chuckled as John washed down the rest of the gatorade.

“Actually kinda funny, cause that’s exactly what Thomas said before he shoved the second dick inside me.”   
“That’s insane, dude.” John shook his head, licking his lips and staring at the screen as he thought. Alexander shuffled, head up against the comforter and crossed his socked feet out in front of him. 

“Huh?” he grunted offhandedly, pulling the sweatshirt strings to be even in front of him so that he could place the left one up in his mouth.    
“That you’re like five foot five.”   
“Six.”   
“And you can fit a foot and a half of dick inside you.”

“What can I say?” Alexander sighed, placing his hands up behind his head on the foot of the bed and scooting, showing himself off cause if anyone  _ knew  _ he was pretty, it was Alex, “I’m a miracle.” Alex tilted his head cockily to look at John, showing him those white teeth. The other man just huffed. 

“The fact that within a week you’ve been out, you’ve already had a threesome with your boss and your partner is a fucking miracle.”    
“Well.” Alex shrugged, chewing the string from one corner of his mouth to the other, watching John stand up with a rustle of fabric and a sigh, “Some would call me a lucky boy, but I just know how to manipulate people, Laurens.”

“You do.” John ran his fingers under the TV, looking for the off button as it blinded him, getting WAY too close to Birdo’s face than he ever wanted to be in his life, “You do…” he whispered to himself so Alex couldn’t hear. Either way the kid seemed to be ready to talk about it as usual.   
“Yeah. I take full credit for that little endeavor. All me.” 

“I applaud you, oh king of the horny-bois.” John declared in a grand tone, finally finding the power button with his middle finger and clicking it off, screen going dark in front of him and turning back around to approach Alex. It was like a minefield in his room with all the junk, trash and clothes laying around both from lunch and from all the crap he just kept for casual snacks. John sniffed, tucking his hands in his sweatshirt pockets as he swung up onto Alexander’s bed and collapsed onto his back.

“You should clean this shithole up.” he mumbled to the ceiling, but Alexander was talking already. John could see his long-haired head peeking up over the edge of the bed, still on the floor. 

“Sometimes I wonder what’s wrong with everyone that they’re so annoyingly un-horny. Like, I  _ worry  _ about you and Thomas; y'all have the libido of seventy-three year old men with erectile dysfunction.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better we worry about you too, man.” John laughed, to which Alexander turned his head around, craning to see him.   
“I’m actually not  _ that  _ horny. Is it literally so much to ask to get anally fucked a couple hours a day?”

John lifted his head, peeking over his chest to stare Alexander right in the eyes for his answer. He guaranteed he was laying on top of a can of Mountain Dew beneath him.   
“As a victim to your satanic sex drive, yeah. Kinda.” 

“Satanic.” Alexander scoffed right back, rolling his eyes as he flung a forearm up on the bed with a “pap!” to assist him in standing. John watched as he slowly dragged himself up onto his unmade comforter, obviously in clear physical discomfort. 

“At school, you begged for a fucking during lunch period in the bathroom and after the dismissal bell  _ and  _ as soon as we got home  _ e-ve-ry day.”  _

“Yeah, and you gave it to me, so I don’t see what your problem is.” Alex crawled up next to him, pushing indents into the bed before he groaned softly and tipped over, flopping down beside John with an exhausted huff. John laughed in his face, letting his head fall to the side to look at his friend, who was staring at the ceiling, arms splayed out over his head. 

“My problem is that I was dry-cumming cause my balls were so fucking empty. It was like the fucking Sahara, Alex, my sperm count is lower than Finland's population. My balls are a ghost town. An abandoned daycare.”

“Boo hoo.” Alexander feigned sympathy with a pouty face, still looking up at the ceiling, “Poor baby John, getting paid to go and fuck gorgeous twinks. How awful.”    
John shook his head, poking Alex’s socked foot with his own and worming up under Alexander's sweatpants ankle-cuff, “You really like yourself, don’t you?”

“How could I not?” Alex sighed cockily, still gnawing on the wet string as he contemplated. For a few moments, the two friends laid in silence. John could see Alexander’s belly rising and falling beneath the copious swaths of fabric of his black Said the Sky sweatshirt. John watched him with his deep brown eyes, how Alex was definitely pondering something carefully, blinking up at the fan that gently tousled his golden-brown hair that was spread around his head inside his hood. John inhaled, trying to think of a subject to talk about that was better than lying around in silence. 

“So.” he sniffed, placing both his hands on his own belly and lacing his fingers in the pockets of his hoodie, “Where’s Jefferson?”   
“Out.” Alex grunted in response. John blinked. 

“Well, did he tell you where?”   
“Yeah, the idiot burnt out his tires during our mission, so he made a few phone calls and went to change them.”

“Speaking of.” John turned his face with a swish to look over at Alexander again, the kid still looking up with his young face, “What happened to your interrogation?” There was a silence between the two as Alexander took in a deep, deep breath and puffed it out, finally turning hazel eyes to gaze into John’s so close to his own. 

“Lafs handed it off to some imbeciles with the IQ of room temperature.” he blinked, rolling his eyes back in a flutter before refocusing on a silent John. The sniper could feel him breathing on him, see his slightly freckled face and dark eyes staring back, “And here I was looking forward to watching Jefferson torture someone.” 

A barely distinguishable glint of fear passed behind John’s brown eyes. He licked his lip as he spoke, slurring a bit, “He doesn’t… usually have to go to that measure.”

“I know.” Alex shrugged casually, “I mean, neither do I. We talk circles around people, including each other. Rather stimulating, to be honest. You know how easily I get bored.” 

“And when you get bored…” John trailed off, knowing what Alexander did when he was bored. He tormented people mentally. He manipulated for fun, killed for fun if he so pleased. He just simply saw the world in a different way. The older man turned his gaze up to the fan, watching the black blades spin in a blur and water his eyes a bit as the wind dried them. 

And for a moment… he wondered what the hell he was doing here. 

For a genuine minute, he felt like he had time traveled to this exact point in time from three years ago when he knew nothing of Alexander, before he knew or had grown accustomed to what his friend was capable of. And for the first time, John just… grasped it. 

How weird this was. How he was laying in bed next to a murderous traitor that  _ he  _ had brought into this bureau, into this life, into this entire timeline that had unfolded like a curtain from the moment they had met. That he had ignored the almost definite serial killings the kid had committed in his earlier life, and discounted it, cast it aside and was oblivious to the consequences. As the boys lay side-by-side with one another, John was falling. His lips parted, dried a bit in the buffeting wind of the strong fan. 

He’d known it for a long time, so this wasn’t anything new to him. Not in the slightest, and it weighed on him… every single day. Sometimes it was hard not to blame himself for overlooking the red flags, for being so negligent and over confident in Alexander’s humanity... that if he hadn’t recruited Alexander like he knew was right, Randolph Emerson would still be alive. He blinked, beginning to feel his chest tighten and constrict with omnipotent guilt. God, had he been here before. 

It wasn’t like he had known at the time what would become of Alexander, obviously, but the responsibility of Randolph’s life still sat on his shoulders, weighed him down like the crushing gravity of a planet’s inner core.

That eighteen year old would still be walking the earth if John had just looked away, called Lafayette to say Alex was too young or too unstable to be recruited. He would be freshly twenty years old right now, maybe with a girlfriend and finishing up school. If he hadn’t cowered--hesitated--Thomas Jefferson wouldn’t have become so stone-cold after a shell-shocking loss.

Alexander wouldn’t have lost his best friend or been thrown into an asylum for a year of his life. He wouldn’t be so insane… it had all stemmed from John, and he had known this since that night Randolph had died. Only sometimes did he truly grasp it for a fleeting moment, and then it was gone as quickly as it had come. Only for a flickering instant could he comprehend the horrific legend that was his… friend. 

When Alexander spoke, it made John jolt a tiny bit in surprise, having been so deep in his thoughts. 

“What?” he sputtered a bit, requesting Alexander repeat. The kid furrowed down his curvy brows.    
“I said how much time do you have left.” 

“Uh,” John got back on track, snapping back into reality, re-implementing all of the events that had happened between three years ago and today so that it all didn’t seem as insane as it truly was. The man sniffed, running a quick finger under his nose as he grunted and contracted his abs to sit up. 

“Depends.” he huffed, glancing over his shoulder, dark, curly hair splayed out over the deep blue of his Rangers hood, “When is Jefferson getting back?”   
“Oh come on, you big pussy.” Alexander sighed, rising from the mattress as well, static in his locks as he propped himself up with a hand on the bed behind him, “You afraid of big, scary skyscraper?” 

“No.” John scoffed, head following Alexander as the kid slid down the side of the bed while grimacing and limped past, basically falling with each slow step. Alexander raised a brow, and John broke down.    
“Okay, you’re gonna give me that look, Alex?” he let his palms fall to his knees, giving in, “Come on, the guy looks at me like he wants to rip my head off half the time.”   
“You’ve only met him once if I’m not mistaken.”

“Yeah, and he looked like he wanted to rip my head off.” John emphasized, letting his head fall to the left as Alexander precariously dodged the swarm of trash, wading through it over to the open bathroom door where he leaned his head in and flicked the lights on with one finger. 

“Alex?”   
“I’m listening to you, I’m just trying not to laugh.” Alexander chortled, and John swung his legs on the bed so that he was facing the bathroom where Alexander stood in front of the mirror and picked up his hairbrush from the counter to yank out his hair tie and run it through his mane. 

John blinked, watching Alex as he turned his head and gestured to him with the brush.    
“Just because--you know--” the kid shrugged in his oversized sweatshirt, “I’m not afraid of him, never have been and never will be.”

“Really.” John monotoned dryly, and Alexander just turned back to the mirror, bending his head forward so the front pieces spilled off before his eyes as he ran the brush through.   
“Mhm.” he grunted through the awkward angle, “The man talks a big game, but he’s just another bully dancing at my fingertips.” Alexander sighed, mouth slightly open in concentration as he primped it up around his ears. John licked his lips, looking down at his fingers as he nervously tapped his bare knee. 

“Right.” he tipped the face of his phone up to check the time, “Well I’m gonna head out cause I see those whiplashes on your legs and,” He gritted his teeth and hissed in some breath, “Yeah. That’s a no from me. Let me know if you unlock Dry Bones cause he’s my guy.”   
“He’s my guy. Get your paws away from my things.” 

John smiled and bent over to collect his shoes.    
“Now you  _ really  _ sound like Jefferson.” John snorted, placing his knuckles on Alex’s bed before he pushed off and landed his socked feet on the floor. Alexander ran his fingers through his hair, flicking off some shedded strands that floated to the floor before going in again with the brush. He wondered… 

“Funny you say that.” Alex cleared his throat, lifting his chin to admire his own beautiful reflection in the mirror. He was feeling diamonds today; he was in the mood to be wearing some, but no way would it go with the old, softened sweatshirt from many washings and his casual clothes. Alexander turned his hazel eyes across to John, who was slipping his feet into his shoes one by one, hopping not to fall over. 

“Would you believe me if I told you that Alexander Hamilton is off the market?”   
“Pff. No.” John scoffed, laughing to himself. But when there was a silence, he finished shoving his heel into his last tennis shoe and turned his face, hair falling down around it to see that Alexander was smiling lightly at him from the sink. 

No way. 

No fucking way in hell.

“What?” his brows ficked down, quietly screwing his heel against the floor to get his shoe on, and Alexander just nodded, leaning slowly, snakelike up against the counter.    
“Mhm. Jefferson wants me to be exclusive.” He spoke the last word like it was the name of a fancy restaurant. There was another pause.    
“You’re kidding.” John was more serious than joking when he scoffed, but Alexander just shrugged with his hands.    
“Nope.”    
“You. Be exclusive. With one person.”

“That’s the definition of exclusive, John, mhm.” he condescended lightly, but John was still trying to wrap his head around the concept. 

For as long as he could remember, Alexander had never stuck with one person, never even formally “dated” someone else. It was always a series of emotionless, casual flings to satisfy himself and nothing more. Not to say Alexander wasn’t picky about who he allowed the “honor” of having sex with him--as he saw it--he always had a high standard for the power someone had to hold for that privilege, but this… this was unprecedented. John ran a hand over his head, blinking a few times at Alex, who just gripped his own wrist, still leaning casually against the counter and watching John’s reaction coolly. 

Why would this happen? Pure jealousy could only arise from developing feelings, even when neither was aware it was happening in the background,  _ that  _ was the cause. Jealousy stemmed from feelings. And Alexander was accepting Thomas’s proposition, which not only implied that Thomas was into Alex, but also that Alex was into Thomas as well. The feelings between them were mutual.

John would congratulate Alexander if he didn’t understand the weight of this. If he didn’t understand the identities, the backgrounds, the stories of the two men  _ he himself  _ had brought together to begin the greatest tragedy of their age. The tragedy of the torn friendship--one that could never be repaired after being marred by such a violent history, but… here Alex was. Telling John that he was going to be with Thomas. Dating?

Realizing he had been silent in his rapid thoughts for too long, he forced himself to speak

“How…” he sputtered breathily a bit as if he was winded, “How are you so nonchalant about this?”   
Alexander raised his brows, “Whoa. Big word there, Johnny boy; need to sit down?” he mocked, but John flicked his head, pushing aside the half-eaten chip bag with a crinkle of plastic so he could take one step forward on the garbage-littered floor. It looked exactly how John’s apartment had looked in Harlem when he would hang out with Alex. A fucking teenage mess.

“I’m serious. You’re going to…” he made an incredulous face and shook his head briefly, trying to grasp this, “Date Thomas?” his voice was softer--not a whisper--but like he'd just said a curse word.

“Please, John, don’t be ridiculous.” Alexander spat on a laugh, and John could immediately sense the kid’s mood shifting how it so often did, so quickly yet so smoothly from calm to manipulative. John’s heart lurched a beat, jump-starting into its new pace. Gradually growing more nervous. This was the point where he had to be careful. This much, he had practice with.

“I hate the man.” Alex tossed his head a bit, “He’s arrogant. He’s a bad-tempered control freak, and he acts like he’s God.” The two watched each other from different rooms, waiting for a point to be made. John spoke slowly, carefully. He had to understand this. But did he want to? Did he want to get involved?

“So you’re not dating him.”   
“No.”   
“And you’re not sleeping with anyone else.”   
“That is correct.” only Alexander’s lips moved, and John just… stared in astonishment, lips slightly parted. He shook his head lightly, definitely amazed.

“And you don’t care if he sleeps with other guys?” his voice wasn’t a scoff, but it was certainly edged with incredulity. He shifted his weight again,

“I’m not an  _ idiot,  _ Alex, you’d only be agreeing to this if you liked him…” Suddenly, the meaning behind what he had just said washed over him in a devastating wave. 

“Do you…” John shook his head lightly,  _ trying  _ to understand, “Like him? After...”

There was certainly a pause from the boy in the bathroom as John trailed off, sensing that he had gone terribly wrong. John wasn’t an idiot; even if he couldn’t read any microexpressions, he could read body language like any competent person, and it didn’t take a genius to see that something--some sort of hesitancy--flickered once behind Alexander’s hazel eyes. Flickered once across the icy, amethyst irises shamefully hidden beneath the gilded gold. There was a hesitance.

And then it passed into darkness upon his brow, shading his eyes. His fingers flicked once--the ones hanging leisurely from his arm on the sink, and curled slightly up towards his palm. 

“No.” he answered simply, tilting his head back to assume the authoritative position, and John’s heart immediately thwacked in his chest, panicking, “And I couldn’t give less shits who he fucks. He can fuck the whole bureau; as long as I’m getting my daily dicking, I don’t care. He’s a plaything to me, alright.” 

John shook his head, and in a moment of rare bravery, he gave into his impulse and furrowed down his brows.    
“Alex, you’re a lot of things, dude, but a good liar has never been one of them. Come on, cut the crap.” 

For a long time, there was only the whooshing noise of the fan spinning overhead, tousling John’s curly hair at his shoulders and swinging his sweatshirt strings against his chest and the Rangers logo. John couldn’t even feel his feet on the floor, his thigh brushing against the side of Alexander’s unmade bed. All he could see, all he could feel was the wrath hidden beneath those eyes. Hidden behind the guise of lies. Alex calmly cocked his head. He wasn’t like Thomas in the sense of how he used his defensiveness, his anger. 

“You think so?” he basically whispered, and his voice… 

Shivers ran up John’s spine, causing the hair to raise on his back. It had to have just dropped ten degrees up in Alex’s loft bedroom. It felt like the rest of the world had disappeared, leaving nothing but Alex and John drifting, watched by the universe. The man licked his dry lips, flicking his tongue over it as he dipped his head and searched the carpeted floor for words.

“Come on, man, you know I don’t--”   
“Wanna know something interesting, Laurens?” he questioned lightly, running his hand lazily down his opposite forearm to pull the cuff of his sweatshirt--Thomas’s sweatshirt--down to his wrist where it bunched up in rolls of old, black fabric. Alexander could scent Thomas’s masculine presence on the material cloaked around him, and he shuffled his socked feet on the slippery marble of the floor.

“Thomas Jefferson is a bad liar too. And the Director. And Lafayette.” Alex nodded, pressing his tongue against the inside of his cheek to make a casual bulge. John could only watch as Alex regarded him up and down with his eyes, still poking his tongue inside his cheek.

“And you.” his last note was quieter, even more impossibly even. 

That was when John knew. He had made a mistake in asking. He had upset the quiet wrath from where it slept like Smaug from the depths of Erebor. Lips struggling for words, Alexander spoke coolly in his place. 

“Everyone, John. To me, they are all bad liars.” Alexander raised his brows curiously, “Three guesses why.” 

John pursed his lips awkwardly, watching Alexander’s expectant face. The wind from the fan blew a softly crinkling bag a few inches, scooting across the carpet, but that was the only sound in the room other than the deafening silence. John ground his back teeth and shifted his weight, tucking an annoying piece of hair under his ear. This was ridiculous. How Alex treated everything like a game, like a movie, but even more ridiculous that he followed along. He knew the answer to what Alex was asking. He had to give it if he wanted this to be over.   
“Cause you can read microexpressions.”

“Cause I can read microexpressions….” Alexander immediately echoed before John was even fully finished, his voice a satisfied whisper as he bobbed his head along, dipping it in approval yet still keeping his eyes trained on his friend. He drew out the silence for exactly how long he knew that it would make John uncomfortable, subordinate him. Alex’s ponytail brushed the back of his hood as he carefully shook his head, never breaking eye contact. 

“Never forget that, my friend. Next time you want to question my ‘feelings’ about my agent partner, next time you want to suggest that I have sympathy for the man that stole a year of my life from me, that I care for him, that I’d be jealous about where he puts his dick. Don’t.” 

John’s lips fell slightly ajar without words. He felt his chest tighten as if an arm was constricting it, and he placed a hand down on Alex’s bed, “Dude, when did I say that?” his emotions were too mixed up for him to organize them on the spot. Frustrated, angry, terrified. Alex waved his fingers nonchalantly.

“No, no, you didn’t. Don’t worry, you were very polite in your  _ words,  _ man.” Alex’s tone was so cunning, so icy compared to how they had been talking not five minutes ago. John was unfortunately, tragically familiar with this. Alexander as a kid, he was completely normal and fine until the  _ instant  _ he pressed a fraction of an inch too deep. A place where Alex didn’t desire to go. And then he was dangerous… terrifying. Alex flicked a brow up. 

“But your expressions told me that you’re a lot of things, John. And a good liar isn’t one of them.” 

Silence. 

The kid had… seriously just thrown John’s argument right back at him in the most  _ dainty  _ and light of manners. He had just twisted the conversation in his favor in a way so that he never had to answer John’s initial question--talked a full circle around him. John could see that when he was speaking... though he didn't answer the question, John already had his answer. Alexander was overly aggressive. He was trying to protect something he didn't want anything to see. 

He did have feelings for Thomas.

Alex did the tongue thing again, pressing it into his cheek and swooping it across to the other in a traveling bulge. 

“Funny. Not entirely relevant, but I just thought of Randy out of nowhere.” he laughed, snickered a bit, “Randolph Emerson was a liar I’ll always remember. Notorious liar. Lied as well as he breathed.” Alexander finally stood up straight from the sink and tucked his hands down in the low pockets of his sweatshirt, shrugging once with a rustle, “And now he doesn’t breathe anymore. Doesn’t lie as much either.”

“Alex--” John raised his hands a bit at his sides, moving his head back scarcely an inch just to show that he was exhausted and innocent, to show that he never meant to bring it this far and Alex was overreacting, but Alexander just adopted a calm expression, taking a sauntering step forth, careful and agile in his gait. 

“Look, I’m not threatening you, man. I’d never.” Alex gave him a genuinely sympathetic look which threw John completely off the tracks, lost as to what Alex was trying to accomplish. He was so off-putting: it was actually scary. 

He strolled across the room to John, crossing over the threshold from bathroom to bedroom as nonchalantly as all get-out. He looked so small in that oversized clothing, and for a flashing moment, John saw him as he was on the first day they had met. Scrawny, hungry, but his presence was so much larger than could be conceived. It filled the room--it suffocated John without Alexander even using any means of force other than subtle verbal cues. 

He stopped in front of John and leaned on the edge of the bed as well with a short “poof” sound, shrugging once again.    
“Just remember who you’re asking those risky questions to. That’s all I have to say.” Alex frowned in casual suggestion, but John knew in the marrow of his bones that this was anything but that. It was a warning. It was a  _ last  _ warning, to be specific, and Alexander was only giving him one because he was his best friend, and--hating himself for it--John felt relieved. John took it like he always did, surrendering, never questioning why he had to deal with this kind of treatment. 

“Yeah, alright, my bad.” he pursed his lips, holding up his fingers on the bed in surrender, just brushing it off as quickly as possible. He could feel Alexander’s body heat close to his own, radiating from his light skin that rose and fell at his throat with life, breathing, heart beating, blood coursing steadily through those veins. John lifted a finger to scratch beneath his ear where the blowing hair was making his skin itch. 

“Your business.” John finished off and pursed his lips, and Alexander nodded silently, extending a hand to quietly play with John’s sweatshirt strings. He twiddled it between two small fingers, nailing at a thread. The tension was palpable for a few moments as Alexander just smiled softly down at the string, content in his own victory. 

“You know, if you're asking cause you wanna fuck, we can fuck.” Alex shrugged, turning his eyes up. John did a double-take, brows swooping down. Huh?   
“You just said--”   
“Yeah, I said that I’m not allowed to screw around; doesn’t mean I’m going to listen.” John didn’t even take a moment to consider that offer. 

“Yeaaaaah.” John gritted his teeth as if in consideration, hissing in some breath as he took a step back away from Alexander, “No thanks. I choose life.” he spoke in a perfect Sid the sloth lisp that made Alexander snort. 

“Damn.” Alex sniffed, laughing and breaking the tension, “I knew my ass was tight as fuck, but not enough to end your life.”

Thank God the dangerous discomfort had passed, the tension swept away as quickly as it had set in--the two continued as if the last five minutes had never even happened.

“No. I mean Jefferson.” John laughed, tossing his curly hair over his shoulder as he paced away from Alex, rounding the bed to grab his phone from where it was tucked deep in the comforter somewhere. Alex watched him, replacing his hands in the warmth of Thomas’s sweatshirt. John sifted his hands over the sheets until he reeled out his phone and looked back up to Alex with his soft-featured face and dark eyes. 

“If he catches me with my dong up your ass, I have a feeling he’s gonna chop my dick off and feed it to the ravens or something.”    
“Well.” Alexander sighed, trying not to laugh at the thought, “You’re not wrong that he’d be colossally pissed. I mean, look at Lafs.”

“Yeah, and we all know who would win that fight: not me.” John snorted tucking his phone into the pocket of his shorts, and it clinked against his apartment keys in there too. Alexander hopped up on the bed, swinging his legs to bump his heels against the frame as he observed his friend.    
“You are such a Beta. It's kinda sad.” 

John swiveled on his heels to walk backwards while giving Alex double finger guns and a cheesy smile. 

“Not a bad life.”    
“Okay.” Alex snorted, watching John grin and turn back around, ponytail swishing across his back in a bushy mess, “You need chapstick, you crusty motherfucker.” he called after his friend.

“And you need psychiatric help, but you don’t hear me complaining.” John more or less yelled over his shoulder as he placed a hand on the banister and gave Alex one last sideways smile before he started thumping down the steps, hair bouncing at his shoulders. He heard Alexander snicker to himself from across the room as he descended the staircase at a jog, a pep in his step.

There was a sense of relief accompanying that of sorrow to leave his friend. Honestly, a part of the relief had to be that he was leaving Thomas Jefferson’s apartment, decreasing his chances of being caught inside of it. 

Keys jangling in his pocket, his rubber soles squeaked on the wood of Thomas’s floors as he reached the bottom and turned. It was a wonder how the place still had that new house smell even after Thomas had been living here for three years. Nevertheless, John sniffed and strolled up to the door, happy to get out of there; he’d never really felt comfortable in these huge, fancy places that Alex adored anyway. They made him feel small. Without planning on breaking stride, he placed his hand on the door handle and pulled it in, ready to breeze out into the hallway. Instead, he was greeted with a heart attack. 

Without even a word, he jolted like he had just been jump-scared, an icy slice of adrenaline lancing through his chest and making him tense up. His eyes darted wildly up, flighty but he was met face to face with someone’s neck.

He knew what was happening even before he had bit his tongue,  _ hard,  _ and slowly… slowly raised his eyes up in dread. Fuck. This wasn't fucking happening.

He saw the tanned skin, the neatly knotted tie wrapped around the crisp, white collar of the shirt. He saw Thomas Jefferson’s sharp jaw. Finally, their eyes locked. Two dark gazes, but one… considerably darker than the other. 

For what felt like a decade, John just stood there gaping like a codfish, lips searching for words. He made a very embarrassing, inhuman noise before breaking eye contact and clearing his throat.    
“Hi, uh,” he coughed, “Hi.” he repeated, wanting to kick himself in the face for whatever the fuck he thought he was doing. He bit his bottom lip and awkwardly took his hand off the door handle, taking two tries to do so and place his hand accordingly at his side instead of in his pocket like an idiot. 

Thomas just… stood there. 

John could feel him breathing. The man all of a sudden seemed like a beast, six foot five and casting a shadow over him. He just… loomed in the doorway, unmoving in front of him. He wasn't wearing a suit jacket, and John could see where a holster hung at his belt, clad with a gun inside. His chest just calmly rose and fell, his hands at his sides. John looked up at him, and opened his mouth, not even sure what it was about to say. The amount of humiliation...

“I was just…” he pointed over his shoulder back into the apartment. Thomas’s apartment. Fuck. The adrenaline from the initial shock was still coursing through him, making his heart pound in his chest and his tongue tie knots in itself. He looked back to Jefferson, pleading that he would understand, but the man just towered there over him. Finally, a deep rumble signaled his voice. 

“Planning on finishing that sentence?” he spoke softly.  _ Far  _ more softly than John would have anticipated, and for some reason it made him swallow. He shifted his weight, placing his hand back on the handle and resting it there, trying his best to be casual. 

“Yeah, uh, Alex and I were just playing some games-- _video_. Video games.” he finished awkwardly, almost feeling his dead ancestors cringe in their graves because what the flying fuck was he saying. John knew this vibe: it was the “caught by your girlfriend’s father before you’ve been introduced to him” vibe. And it was weirder that Thomas was the one giving off the father vibe. 

Thomas stared down at John, slowly sweeping him up and down with his eyes as if judging him, judging him on his casual garb and his messy hair that he could tell looked like he had just been in and out of Alex's bed for a quick one. John folded in both his lips, heart still pounding in his chest as Thomas finished his rounds and returned his eyes to him. He didn’t even seem to be contemplating what John had just said, rather moving on already. 

“Laurens. Is it?” he inquired slowly like a TSA worker, and John nodded, coughing again in this inexplicable fear of a voice crack. 

“Yeah. We met… like last week…” he trailed off to just nod instead, sensing that it wasn’t something Thomas had asked, and he had this weird inkling that he shouldn’t provide information that he wasn’t asked for. Jesus Christ, he had gotten strange vibes from this dude the first time, but now that it was one-on-one it had to be fifty times more terrifying. 

Then, out of the blue, Thomas inhaled and lifted his arms with a rustle of fabric, crossing them over his chest with a shrug to get comfortable. John watched him, trying to breathe evenly. There was a long silence. 

“Are you going to let me in my house?” Thomas finally drawled in a dry monotone, and John _jumped_ as if poked with a white-hot branding iron. 

“Oh, no yeah, sorry.” he bumbled.   
Thomas just rolled his eyes for a split second as John awkwardly maneuvered around Thomas, who didn’t budge an inch for him to pass, and stepped out into the hallway. The man was already mentally punching himself in the face for acting like an incompetent moron in front of Alexander’s partner, and he dug his nails into his palms, begging himself to snap out of it and walk down the hall to the elevator like a functioning human being. 

Thomas turning around and leaning in the doorway as if he’d just remembered something didn’t assist those plans. The Virginian lifted his chin, looking down upon Alexander’s curly-haired friend.

“Laurens.” he called, using the same, even tone of voice without even raising it. The guy swiveled his face, tucking a piece of his hair behind his ear and scratching it. 

“Yeah.” he responded too quickly, but Thomas didn’t seem to notice. He had his arms crossed, basically filling up the entire door frame with his body. There was no doubt that the man was attractive with those desirable dark, dramatic features. But John’s eyes were just drawn to Thomas’s fingers on his own arm, just tapping, tapping away at his obviously toned bicep. The older one blinked. 

“You were with Alexander while you were scouting him, were you?” he questioned as if only to confirm. And John felt like his heart had just been swallowed by his stomach. He shook his head slightly, trying to come off as less of a piece of prey. 

“No, not anymore, man. It was more of a casual…” he scratched his ear again, “thing.” he finished, lowering his arm down to tap his thumb restlessly against his pocket bulging with his phone. It was the only sound in the hallway as Thomas took him in once again. John’s mouth moved without his consent, and he was talking again. Mostly in hopes of saving Alex some grief. 

“We’re honestly just friends though; he told me we can’t mess around anymore since you two are…” his tongue went blank at the last moment, and he just lifted his finger to point at Thomas briefly and let it fall back down to his sides, “Yeah.” he gave up.

“Yeah.” Thomas echoed, not awkward or uneven in the slightest. More _mocking_ if anything, “Wasn’t what I was going to ask, but good to know we’re all on the same page.” Thomas noted, and John felt a bit of relief from the tightness in his chest. Perhaps it was the right decision to be bold a few seconds ago, cause it may have saved his ass. He was so deep in his micro-success that he hardly realized Thomas was waiting for him. Waiting for him to say his line. He blinked,

“Oh, uh, were you going to ask something though?” John gestured at him again, trying to be polite, and Thomas dipped his chin only a hair, approving. John could  _ almost  _ sense the trap he was lured into. But not until it was already too late, and the snare had caught on his leg and hoisted him from the ground. 

“I’m sure you’ve seen that thing on his neck, then." he leaned deeper into the door frame, only raising the stance of his head as if he was just making conversation, but they both knew what this was, "Crazy scar, isn’t it?” he noted.

For a genuine five second pause, John couldn’t tell in the slightest if that was a question… or a statement. He parted his lips. Alexander was right. They were dry; he did need chapstick. 

“Yeah.” was all he could manage before he bit his tongue so hard he felt the salty, metallic tang of blood bloom bitterly onto the roof of his mouth. Thomas twitched a brow, only one. It was clear that it would be his only request for the explanation--no further words needed. John ran the back of his hand over his mouth, begging for a savior to take him out of here. Now he was stuck, and he only had three seconds to think of what to say before it was too late. 

“I… don’t really know the whole story, so...” he lied. Thomas just nodded.   
“Mm. Guess we’re in the same boat on that one.” Thomas spoke, and John almost felt a sense of relief at how his tone was sounding: more friendly. But Thomas opened his mouth again.

“How much of the story do you know?” Thomas inquired just as John was about to get the hell out of this situation, “Out of curiosity.” he lifted his chin, “From a medical standpoint, I can see it wasn’t stitched, which leaves me wondering who the hell’s care he was in.” he poked his tongue inside his cheek in a way that was somehow dominant, not nervous. But the other man could sense that there was something Thomas was hiding... a little tinge of anger towards whoever's care Alex was under. John, just shifted, colossally uncomfortable. 

“Yeah, no I get that. I mean, being a doctor and everything.” he laughed nervously, and gritted his teeth in a bit of a grimace as he met Thomas’s eyes again, “I don’t really… know if I’m the one to tell you that?” he finished sounding like a question, and when he saw Thomas’s eyes change mood he kept talking,

“It’s just personal to Alex; I understand where you’re coming from but, I don’t exactly…'' There was no good way to say this, “know you that well. But, I mean, you know Alex, so maybe you should,” John shrugged and sniffed, placing his hands in the pockets of his shorts as he ran his nose over his shoulder briefly, “ask him.” 

Thomas remained leaning against the door frame, arms crossed, just regarding John. When the man spoke, John wasn’t expecting it.    
“And you think he’d tell me?” Thomas interrogated rhetorically. John’s mouth went dry, and he curled in both lips again, looking at the floor.

“Worth a shot if you really wanna know, man.” was all John had to offer, and Thomas shifted his weight, returning to a standing position. The driver inhaled, and didn’t exhale, only spoke. John thought it quite astounding… how black his eyes were. He couldn’t even see pupils inside of them; they blended with the irises.

“He talks a lot about you, Laurens. You know that?” Thomas noted, nodding along quietly. John blinked in shock. What?

What was this?

“Sometimes we forget that everyone knows his name, but nobody knows him. Must be a shitty kind of existence.” Thomas’s voice bordered on a scoff, and he reigned it in, refocusing on Alexander’s friend. 

“I’m sure it looks like I’m prying you cause you’re used to that, but I’m not, Laurens.” Thomas shook his head, just trying to be fucking honest, “I’m asking cause I want to know. Not because I want to tell.” Thomas tapped his fingers on his white-clothed arm. 

Thomas was speaking more to himself than to John as he said his next words. 

“But I don’t want to hear it from you.” he nodded in understanding with himself, obviously finding some sort of inner agreement. John himself knew that Thomas didn’t mean it in an offensive way. He knew what Thomas meant. The taller man coolly uncrossed his arms and placed his fingers up on the metal handle of his door, rapping them with a dull series of taps. 

John had no words. He had  _ nothing  _ to say at the fact that Thomas Jefferson, the man he had met one time in a rushed exchange with Alexander kissing his face to make Thomas jealous, had just opened up something… far deeper than either of them could really comprehend on the spot. Perhaps it was easier doing so to a stranger. 

And just like that, Thomas was cold again. His walls were up, and he straightened himself, taking on that elitist aura. 

“And tell ‘Alex’,” he said, exaggerating the nickname that he never used, “That next time he thinks about having friends over in my house without telling me, he should think again.” Thomas gave him a tight smile, and John snickered. 

“Yeah, sorry. I thought he’d tell you.” 

Thomas turned around, snorting softly to himself, “Mm. I didn’t.” 

John’s ensuing laugh was less nervous and more genuine as he sidestepped, turning away from Thomas who pulled his keys from his pocket and swung the door closed behind him with a click. And hence ended their brief exchange. John felt an overwhelming sense of relief as he sighed, tension seeping off his body like steam as he padded down the carpeted hall towards the elevators. He ran a hand over the top of his head, smoothing down his hair. God, he had narrowly avoided being beaten to a pulp by Alexander’s six-year-older dominant, but instead, he had received a question--a question about Alexander's scar? 

John cleared his throat, pressing the metal light-up call button on the elevator and standing back, waiting for it to arrive at Thomas’s floor. As he watched the glowing numbers tick up slowly on the panel above the doors, he felt something heavy sitting in the pit of his stomach.    
Perhaps he had misjudged Thomas Jefferson. Perhaps he had made assumptions. 

His initial reaction was how it always was with the various men in Alexander’s life: just trying to get close enough to date him for bragging rights. 

But would Thomas have asked such a personal question to a man he had  _ never  _ spoken to one-on-one if he didn’t care about what had happened to Alexander--what had caused such an ugly mar on such a beautiful person? Your average, every-day curiosity could go far, but not _that_ far.

As the elevator arrived with a ding, and the doors slid open for him, John was still perplexed. Maybe it was obvious: one can’t cast out all care for someone even through an event like Randolph’s death and Alexander’s arrest. If the care was  _ strong  _ enough that even the slaughter of Emerson couldn’t break it… then it made sense. 

Thomas and Alexander still had a chance. A small one, but a chance. 

John turned around once he was inside of the elevator, considering pulling out his phone to get his mind off of today, but he left it at the bottom of his pocket, watching the doors close off the hallway and seal him into silence. There was only the jazz Muzak from the overhead speaker, the warm glow of the light and the beep of floors passing by. He ran his sleeve under his nose and tried,  _ tried  _ to ignore the question that was pulling at his mind. 

Even as he stepped out, keys jangling in the lock as he pulled the door to his own small apartment ajar and strode inside, tossing them down onto the counter and flicking the lights on, he knew. In the emptiness of his home, he was aware that he couldn't avoid the nagging question pounding at his skull. 

Randolph and Alexander were startlingly similar. 

Their personalities clashed, of course, but even in their facial features, the manner in which they thought, and acted--in which they carried themselves with pride--was oddly parallel. The notorious enemies, the immigrant and the street-rat had both come from humble beginnings and rose from ashes, forging them into who they were. So… strikingly alike despite  _ everything _ . 

John couldn’t ignore it. Not after that conversation he’d had with the driver he himself had roped into Alexander’s destiny. 

Did Thomas have any feelings for Alexander? 

Or did Thomas only have feelings towards that tiny piece of Randolph that resided deep within Alexander himself…?

John could only pray that the latter was not true. Because it was. Not. Fair. He could only pray that someone loved that broken boy for all of his broken parts, not for anything else. He could only pray that for once, Randolph wouldn’t take the spotlight even from beyond the grave. 

It was Alexander’s time to be loved. It was his turn to be loved. And John… could only silently pray from the sidelines that Thomas Jefferson could love him. 

As he finally let this contemplation enter his mind, sighing as he flopped down on his old couch, he had an inexplicable inkling… the way that Thomas looked at Alex....

It  **_wasn’t_ ** the same way that he had once looked at Randolph. It wasn’t even close.

The man puffed out a breath, leaning deeply into the cushion as he pulled the hair tie out, letting his curly hair fall free. The way Thomas had looked at Randolph was like the boy was a delicate flower that he could break at any moment. Thomas was too careful. But with Alexander, he looked and spoke to him as his equal, not as an inferior bowing to his every request, changing himself to be liked as he did with Randolph. John acknowledged that inexplicable inkling as he stared at the dim wall of his apartment. 

It was easy to think that Thomas only seeked the Randolph within Alexander. But just by the way Thomas spoke of the teenager from Harlem, John could tell it wasn’t true. Thomas didn’t even know it, but John did. The driver was slowly… carefully falling for the sniper. It was without question. It was true. And Alex was starting to fall for him. 

He could only hope that it wouldn’t catch either of them by surprise. 

* * *

“Read it again.” 

Thomas let the paper fall softly against the edge of the table with a little “clack”, rolling his head up to look at a pacing Alexander. The kid did like to pace like he was a forty-year-old professor, always deep in contemplation. The driver parted his lips and shook his head. 

“Alexander.” 

“I said read it again, Jefferson.” Alexander commanded tersely, muffled a bit as he ran his thumb and forefinger over his eyebrows. Thomas kept shaking his head as he returned back to the open case file in front of him. 

“Sit the fuck down; you’re weirding me out.” he spat under his breath; a pet peeve of his had alwayse been people that randomly stand when the rest of a group is sitting down at a table or living room. Perhaps it was Thomas being used to towering over everyone in the room that did it, but whatever it was, he hated when Alexander did this. The sitting driver found the beginning of the line of the cipher with his dark eyes and began to read out loud, quiet enough so that any prying ears could not hear them. 

The pair was in an alcove table in the HQ library, surrounded on three sides by fully stacked bookshelves, and on the fourth by Alexander pacing slowly back and forth, arms crossed over his chest and trapping his tie against himself. The smell of well-used paper, the warmth of printer ink, and the always lingering scent of coffee clung to the place that people spent hours, whole nights even, on end. 

The open space had a dome as was so popular in HQ architecture, but there were smaller sitting areas and shelf alcoves like these for more private work. Now, there was only the soft whisperings muffled by the insulation of books upon books, as agents and other FBI personnel worked in groups or solo, milling about or browsing shelves in their black and white garb, some at the coffee machine and talking quietly. 

Thomas and Alexander, however, were stationary. They  _ had  _ been for a long time now, surrounded by several cryptology texts, the Schuyler file, a spiral notebook, a brand new pack of mechanical pencils that Alex had just opened since they’d forgotten some upstairs. Thomas’s reusable coffee cup was empty--which was unfortunate for everyone--and so was his patience. Alex, on the other hand, was resilient and untired, which was surprising considering the day he had had--with the mission, the rough sex and all. Thomas suspected that the boy would get home after this and immediately crash and sleep for twelve hours. It wouldn’t be out of the ordinary for him to do. 

It was like Thomas ran completely on coffee, and Alexander ran on sheer, ungodly sexual energy.

They had to be in uniform if they were walking around HQ at any point, so they both had full suits, but with the jackets slung over the backs of chairs for hours now since they had gotten hot and stripped them off. It astounded Thomas how sophisticated Alexander could look when he was formal--hair brushed neatly back into a smooth flow, clothing ironed and cleaned. He was like a little, baby James Bond. 

For what felt like the billionth time, Thomas sighed as he spoke in a monotone and started to read off the seemingly random heap of letters.

“ P, O, K, G, X, A, T, R, X, N, Q...F.” he finished off, “And the letters on the grid are N,Y,C,A,B,D,E, et cetera.” and pursed his lips, cocking his head as he turned it back up to Alexander, who now had his knuckles to his lips and had finally stopped. He wasn’t facing Thomas, rather the side of his face was as the driver could literally  _ see  _ the letters swirling incoherently in Alexander’s mind, mixing up out of order and becoming muddled and confused. Alex knew the alphabet by heart like anyone else. But picturing the sequence in his mind was no easy task. 

“Anything magically appeared yet, or you wanna hear it again?” Thomas drawled sarcastically, but Alexander lifted his chin a degree, knuckles an inch from his face as he cut off his partner. 

“We’re going about this wrong. Open the one on ciphers; we’ll never figure this out without it.”   
“Why don’t you sit. Down. Wise-aleck, and I’ll consider it.” Thomas clipped through a tight jaw, but Alexander completely ignored him, striding quickly around the edge of the table and towards Thomas instead of towards a chair. The older of the two scowled, scoffing. 

“Hello?”

“Shut.” Was Alex’s only response as he reached across his partner and pulled the file towards himself, bending over slightly to see it.    
“Watch yourself , jackass.” Thomas mumbled a sneer as Alexander’s hazel eyes reflected the print, darting back and forth over it. His tie dangled down from his starchy collar like a hanging leash, swinging slightly from his movement. 

In the near silence of the library, there was only the clinking of a fork somewhere as someone ate and worked, and the soft whispers here and there. And Alexander’s breathing, as he stood close to Thomas, both lips pursed in. That was when the Virginian realized that Alexander was wearing a new cologne or deodorant or something. Well that was weird. 

He furrowed his brow down, and he sniffed quietly. He wasn’t wrong. For a few moments, he didn't really know what to do. Finally, he twisted in his chair, craning to look up at the standing Alex. 

“You wearing a different cologne?” he whispered, and Alexander flicked his eyes to him for a distracted fraction of a second before blinking at the inconvenience returning back to the screen.    
“No.” he sneered.

“Yes. You are.” Thomas scoffed under his breath, looking around to make sure no one was looking before he leaned in closer, grabbing the bottom of Alex’s tie that dangled below the table and pulling it in a controlled motion that made Alex look at him.    
“Hey. I asked you a question.” he whispered as not to draw any attention. 

“And I asked you to shut the fuck up, but here we are.” Alex whispered in turn.   
“Check your tone of voice with me, bitch. And don’t get smart-mouthed when you’ve worn the same cologne since you were seventeen, and now it's…” he took a moment to try and place it, “Lavender?” he laughed, face not in a smile quite yet, “Really?” 

Alex just shook his head and tapped his finger down on the book in front of Thomas twice, “Five-by-five grids. Look it up.” The kid finally reached over and dragged a chair across the old-fashioned carpet, pushing it up next to Thomas’s until they thunked together, and he squeezed into it. 

Thomas flipped the book open, watching the spine glow blue as he entered the first page. 

“Any particular reason you’re so close to me?” Thomas sneered in his characteristically dry tone as he tapped twice with three fingers on the bar at the top of the first page so that a keyboard appeared. Alexander shrugged.    
“I was thinking of sitting on your lap, but I just assumed you’d break my neck on the spot.” He smiled to himself, a grin splitting his face as Thomas sighed, tapping letters into the search bar at the front of the book. 

“Wow. For once you’re right.” his voice was extremely un-surprised; he was concentrating; “Now shut your dickhole while I’m typing.” 

“Mmm.” Alex hummed, sliding down in his seat, feeling the fabric rub against his back as he sidled down, “I dunno, the idea of sitting on your lap sounds better now that I said it…” he pretended to stretch as Thomas utterly ignored him, bringing his hand down delicately to slide over Thomas’s clothed thigh and right up between his legs, squeezing the bulge that could barely even fit in his hand.

“Ff--” Thomas spat under his breath, _ jerking  _ away with lightning reflexes. His head snapped to the side, an incredulously furious look upon his face. 

“What in  _ fuck’s name _ do you think you’re doing?” he snarled, curling his lip, and Alex just shrugged, hand on Thomas’s thigh now as he drew his face a little closer, smiling with those glittering white teeth.   
“Bored.”   
“Well, I didn’t ask.” he scoffed, “And get your hand off me.” he spat and reached under the table to smack Alex’s hand away, “That death wish of yours is gonna get you killed, you little shit.” Thomas tossed Alex’s wrist back onto the kids lap, discarding it without a care as he returned to the book and pressed enter with a rough finger, disgruntled. Alex just snickered, bringing his hands delicately to his throat to straighten his tie. 

“Life wouldn’t be fun without a death wish. I should know.” he noted, looking off into the library at the people in suits studying at different tables and couches, some in groups, some not. The benefit of the library was that any activity on the books couldn’t be tracked. It was simply impossible to ever see what the person before you searched for or who checked the book out before you; they were like an Etch A Sketch. Once erased, there was no getting the history of the user before you back. 

“If we weren’t in a public library, Hamilton...” Thomas growled under his breath, waiting for the book to search for his key term and sift it out. 

“You’d what?” Alexander huffed with a condescending little laugh, smiling lightly as he watched the book load, and finally blinked twice when it found the key term on four different pages. 

“I don’t know. Too many ideas,” he shrugged, “I’d make you scream with my fingers for one.” Thomas grumbled, noting the top result on page fifty-six, and beginning to flip to it through the pages. Beside him, Alexander’s lips twitched into a one-sided smirk, surprised but not disappointed. 

“Al _right_ , Tommy getting feisty.” he laughed in approval, “Care to tell me more about that proposal?” he bit it, and Thomas didn’t even look at him when he answered.   
“I’d jam my thumbs directly into your eye sockets.” 

The younger sighed, knowing he should’ve seen that coming, “Touché.” he raised his brows.

Thomas just grunted in response, pulling the book between them as he flipped to the correct page, the covers smacking the table. 

“Here.” he spoke, pointing at where the term had been highlighted in blue by the book’s search function, “Polybius square.” Alex leaned over to look, and his shoulder brushed against Thomas’s. For some reason, the closeness, the radiation of heat through their thin shirts, Alexander felt a little nervous. He swallowed and turned his eyes down to the page, where immediately, the black ink began to swirl. Letters fell off the page and glimmered, disappearing randomly. 

He pursed his lips and looked back up at Thomas, who’s black eyes were concentratedly scanning over the lines and reading what Alex assumed to be a definition. 

“Hello.” Alexander smiled up at Thomas’s face, blinking condescendingly. 

Thomas did a flinchy double-take, drawn out of the book and looking over at Alexander. Now…  _ now  _ that they were looking at one another, their faces were so close. Thomas’s midnight eyes scanned the hazel and green of Alexander’s, distracted. That was when he realized what Alexander was trying to tell him, and was only slightly mortified. 

“Oh.” he managed to grumble, clearing his throat as he turned back to the book. Alexander pursed his lips tighter in inconvenience and laid his hand across the back of Thomas’s chair so that he could lean down and try his very best to follow along. 

“The polybius square, also known as the polybius checkerboard--” 

“Thomas.” Alex cut him off, and now the taller was beginning to grow frustrated. He couldn’t get anything done with this little shit, yet he couldn’t get anything done without him either, so he was stuck. He swung his head over to him. 

“Can I  _ help  _ you?” he shook his head, irritable, but it quickly faded when he saw the expression on Alex’s face. The kid was staring at the book instead of him, eyes squinting at different widths like he was trying to adjust the focus. He shifted in his seat with a rustle of fabric, smoothing down his tie with the hand that wasn’t over the back of Thomas’s wood chair before placing it on the table and rapping his fingernails down with a series of clicks. He was only wearing one diamond ring today.

“You think you could…” he coughed, placing his elbow on the counter to point seemingly nonchalantly at the book, “Do the finger thing.” he nodded at the book, hoping it would make sense. Thomas just blinked, making a face.    
“What?” he kept staring at Alex in incomprehension, and the boy shrugged, moving his hand to push aside his mass of hair and scratch the back of his neck over the gnarly scar. 

“You know.” he bobbed his head in annoyance, and lowered his small hand back down. He placed a finger on the paper between them and drew it across the page, not in accordance with any particular line of text, slanting across the page, but then it clicked. Thomas’s lips parted, and he pushed them back together as he watched Alexander’s finger draw across the flat, dry paper. 

Something in his chest shifted, and he wasn’t all that sure that he enjoyed it. After a second, watching Alex pull his hand back and place it on the tabletop again, drumming his fingers, Thomas decided he didn’t like it at all. In fact, he hated the way he felt. The guilt... it washed through his entire body.

Alexander wanted to try to follow along. He wanted to at least know where they were and _ try _ . The larger man shifted in the wood seat, legs pressed against the bottom of the table, and it creaked with stress. 

“Mm.” was his only answer, and he didn’t even cast a glance to Alex, he forced himself not to as he lowered the pad of his index finger to meet with the left page of the book, the one closest to Alex. He couldn’t help it anymore, and took the risk, flicking his eyes across at his partner. Those hazel eyes were trained on his tan finger, watching, waiting for something to happen. He was still squinting, unmoving.

Thomas licked his lips silently and began to read, taking a little too much care to make sure his finger was under the word he was saying. The throbbing, aching feeling of shame still gripped his chest, the guilt wrapping around him like an iron, unyielding fist. 

“The Polybius square, also known as the polybius checkerboard, is a tool first invented by the ancient Greeks and was brought to light by the historian Polybius, hence the name. This device was originally used for fire signals and is now used in many types of ciphers shown by a five-by-five grid--which in turn excludes one letter in the Latin alphabet.” Thomas read evenly, but then he paused to put in his own word. His heart thumped now… and he couldn’t explain why. 

But then something nearly shifted into place in his mind. Nearly, “So the grid. It’s a key.” he added, eyes darting from the book to the Schuyler file. He felt that same energy radiating from it… dark, secretive. Almost beckoning at him with the blinking, blinking cursor to come and try. Daring him to come closer. He licked his lips and went on, uneasy. The grid was a key to solve the cipher...

So this cipher that Schuyler had put in her file... it was _meant_ to be solved by anyone determined enough to need the information. Clever.

“In the Latin form, the letters I and J share a square, but a possible alternative is C and K as well.” Thomas read off, and as he did so, Alexander tracked Thomas’s finger with his eyes. He was trying to… see if he could focus on  _ one  _ consistent like of text based on where Thomas’s finger was. It wasn’t easy. And he concentrated. It was like looking at a gem pan, the sand sifting out bit by bit as the letters disappeared and swirled. Not to mention comprehending the information while he was trying to concentrate on keeping all of the letters contained in their designated place was nigh impossible. 

“There’s some more history information…” Thomas trailed off, still concentrating as he turned his attention to the next page before flipping it all together with a rustle of paper and slight difficulty. Paper was a weird and wasteful thing, he thought--books were even more so. Alexander, meanwhile looked down on the charts that painted the pages of the book. 

The letters in them were bold and easy to read, and he could see that numbers and symbols labeled the outside of each row and column. It was like when you were plotting points on the graph for the first time in middle school, finding the points on the X and Y axis, and following them until they intersected to plot the point you were looking for. The numbers and symbols here in the book were like the X and Y axis, the letters within the grid were like the rest of the quadrant. Points waiting to be plotted in code. If there was one thing that made sense to Alexander, it was math; the only subject he had ever passed. He squinted. 

Within the grids in the book... the letters were in alphabetical order. Something… not a lightbulb yet, perhaps a little spark began to hint in his head. 

He reached across Thomas to pull the Schuyler File closer, putting his face right up to it so that the glass fogged and he had to wait for the condensation to seep away before he could see clearly again. It was harder to read here with the thin little characters, but it didn’t take much more than a third grade education to see what was off. Finally, the light bulb turned on.

“Jefferson.”    
The taller cut back immediately, “ _ Oh  _ my God, could you let this process happen for, like,  _ two  _ minutes without bitching, Alexander.” Thomas used his hand as a bookmark as he snapped it closed and turned his face to his partner. Alex, however, kept looking at the file, brows furrowed down on his face.

“My ‘bitching’ is me having an epiphany, so if you wanna solo this mission, big boy, I’ll just go over there and fuck myself.” 

“Epiphany.” Thomas repeated, pursing his lips in request for elaboration, "What is it?" 

“Wow. Could I get a ‘please’?” Alex scoffed, and Thomas gave him the  _ look.  _ Deadpan and seriously dangerous. 

“Alexander, we’ve been here for two hours--my patience is short, my coffee supply is out, and if you think I won’t  _ flog  _ you in front of this whole library--” he whispered through a tight jaw.

“Alright, easy there big boy.” Alex cut him off, sounding just a  _ hint  _ too close to patronizing, “Geez, you say  _ I  _ need to mind my damn manners.” Thomas stewed as he watched Alex scooted to the edge of his seat that creaked, and got up closer to Thomas so that their shoulders were unwittingly pressed together. Well, more like Alexander’s shoulder to Thomas’s upper arm. 

“Here,” Alexander opened the book and gently pulled aside Thomas’s hand by the cuff that was on the page they were reading. He licked his lips, beginning to feel his heart beat as he tapped his finger on the hollow-sounding book, “Try to keep up.” 

Thomas inhaled in annoyance, but Alex went on, not even comprehending how much of a brat he was. 

“There’s symbols  _ outside  _ of the grid to correspond with the letters inside, that will eventually give you the cipher. Like plotting points to find the coordinates.” his voice was mature as he spoke, poking his finger at an example of plaintext, which was essentially just the line of encrypted letters that was the message you were trying to find out. 

“Okay.” Thomas shook his head, but Alex went on, scooting even closer to him so that they were practically on top of each other. But the kid’s heart was beating steadily faster in his chest, gaining speed as the light grew, expanded in his mind, catching onto the idea.

“They’re in  _ alphabetical  _ order here in the book. But look at the file, Jefferson.” Alex suddenly reached up and in one quick movement spun the Schuyler file so that it perfectly faced Thomas on the table with a clack. And as the older man’s black eyes reflected the glowing text on the screen, twitching, darting over the lines of the grid, Alexander watched as the observation slowly dawned on Thomas. 

He could tell in his microexpressions, the way his muscles around his cheekbones relaxed, the way his eyes opened up to see only a fraction of a millimeter. Alex suddenly smiled, looking at Thomas who’s eyes were still glued intently to the screen with no sign of departing. 

“They’re out of order. And there’s no symbols around the perimeter of the grid.” Alexander opened his hands as if it was obvious, leaning back in his seat. This time, Thomas looked silently over to him as the kids crossed his arms cockily across his chest. 

The older just blinked, “And that’s supposed to mean what?” he gestured with a flat hand at the file, “Doesn’t change that we can’t read any of this…” he waved at it, trying to find the right word, “ _ shit _ .”

And Alex lifted his chin.    
“Think about it, love, use that big wad of cum where your brain should be.” he condescended like he was king of the world, smug as all get out, “The symbols and numbers on the  _ outside  _ of the key grid--each corresponding to a letter within--would mean the  _ cipher itself  _ also would be in either numbers, or in symbols, as shown in the book.” he explained, “The cipher  _ Schuyler _ wrote, on the other hand, is in regular, normal, everyday letters. And her letters within the grid are out of order, meaning that the secret to the encryption is hidden somewhere  _ in _ this grid since there’s nothing to observe or correspond to on the perimeter in the first place. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist.” he finished eloquently, tightening the knot of his tie as he crossed his legs. 

Thomas had to stay focused and avoid the distraction… because everything Alexander did was provocative. 

“Keep reading, driver-boy, we’re getting warmer.” he waved, commanding Thomas to go on, and the man gave him one dark warning glance from the corner of his eyes before looking down to the page once more. He skimmed quickly, drawing his tan hand over the page as he searched through the information. How did Alexander do this? He couldn't’ even… read. He couldn’t see what Thomas saw on the page; he couldn’t see any of what they were trying to figure out. And yet, he was always ten steps ahead. How did he do it? 

The information flooded Thomas's vision, clouding it. The words and letters, the unfamiliar definitions and terminology was overwhelming, and he could hear them whispering over and over in his mind as he  _ tried  _ to retain what he was reading for the sake of the case.  _ Plaintext, encryptions, Cyrillic alphabet…  _ it all echoed in his head, swirling. He wished he could contact a cryptographer, because his cryptography skills had been allowed to wither and atrophy in disuse. Now, he hardly even remembered what half these words mean, let alone how to apply them. 

But hiring a cryptologist was out of the question. Entering the line of code into the computer and seeing what popped up was out of the question. The only confidential way to go about this was through the books, through insight or else their mission might as well have been broadcasted live to the world and all the prying eyes that seeked to exploit their next move. No. They had to do this on their own. They had to do this together. 

Thomas scanned quicker and quicker, knowing that he was looking for  _ something,  _ not what it was, but he knew that he would know when he saw it. He flipped the page quickly, nearly tearing it off as Alex watched intently. Faster. Faster. Tension building up.

“Got it.” Thomas finally stopped, tearing his eyes from the page. Somehow he felt out of breath, like he had been running across the page instead of the tip of his finger. Alex’s eyes snapped up to Thomas’s and the man cleared his throat, regulating his voice. 

“Got it.” he repeated, tapping on the page and looking down to read, “If a system of corresponding characters and numbers is not in use, a pattern system using a key word or phrase can be implemented into the square itself. This would cause the characters within the Polybius square to appear scrambled, due to the presence of the ‘key word’ at the beginning of the first rows, and hence throwing the rest of the alphabet off--this is  _ it,  _ thank fuck _.”  _ Thomas interrupted himself, half a smile tugging on his lips as he continued despite the excitement, “The letters in the key word are not repeated in the alphabet afterwards. For example, if CAT was the key word, the letters C, A, and T would be at the beginning, and the rest of the characters of the alphabet would fall in the order they would fall in once C, A, and T have been relocated.” 

Thomas kept reading, but Alexander had refocused himself on the Schuyler file. The thin… typewriter-like letters spinning and swirling in his eyes like alphabet soup. Almost like Eliza, wherever she was, was dangling them from a string, a puppeteer, a ventriloquist, giggling and sighing at his struggle. 

“Then, depending on the kind of cipher you are dealing with, you follow the patterns in order to decrypt the line of cipher, which should appear in letters.” Thomas finished reading, just shaking his head down at the book instead.    
“Well that was easy.” he noted, “Doesn’t seem possible that we could’ve missed that…” he raised his eyes to Alexander, who was just…  _ staring  _ at the Schuyler file that he had pulled towards himself a bit ago. 

“Allie?”    
“All falls together quite nicely. However, we’ve got one little problem.” Alex spun it towards Thomas once again, the bottom scraping on the wood of the table. Thomas looked at it as Alexander placed his chin between his thumb and index finger, “There  _ is  _ no keyword.” 

Thomas stared. 

He understood why Alex had been too. The grid was laid out in front of him just how the ones in the book were. But there should have been a clear word on the first one or two rows of the Polybius square, but there were just… seemingly random letters. Alex blinked, nudging a piece of hair behind his ear with his shoulder. 

“Unless I read it wrong.” he grunted; his voice had this...tiny hint of self-consciousness that Thomas was unable to pick up on, being as distracted as he was. The Virginian made a face, pulling the screen jerkily closer to himself to observe as if it would reveal the answers. Alexander was right. There was no… real  _ word  _ in sight, just a bunch of random letters.

“That’s impossible.” he nearly spat, brows still knitted down in frustrated confusion, “There can’t  _ not  _ be a key word; it would make it unsolvable. That’s not to mention if there wasn’t a key word…  _ somewhere _ in here, the letters wouldn’t be scrambled, and the cipher would be undecryptable.” he shook his head, and Alexander nodded in concurrence.

“I know.” he agreed, “So what? The hell are we gonna do with just random... combinations.”    
Alexander had already had his lightbulb, and he stared down at the floor under the table. Now it was Thomas’s turn for his to go off. 

“Or abbreviations…” he whispered. Alex looked up, curious, just in time to see the barely distinguishable line of Thomas’s pupil expand. His face opened up.

“What was that?”   
“Pencil. Paper.” Thomas commanded, eyes still on the screen as he curtly motioned for the lined college ruled notebook. Alex’s brows turned down.    
“Make me, Dad.” Alex scoffed stubbornly.

“Alexander, do as I say if you don’t want to be over my knee in T-minus ten seconds.” 

“Alright--just…” Alexander jerked into action, sweeping the notebook across the counter towards himself and plopping it down on Thomas’s lap before tearing open the pack of mechanical pencils and selecting the hot pink one just to make sure he hadn’t completely lost this fight. He tossed it down in Thomas’s lap as well, thumping on the notebook, but the man didn’t even seem to mind, lifting them both with a rustle of paper and flipping to a random page. Alex crossed his arms again, leaning back leisurely in his seat. 

“Can I ask what you’re up to, Sherlock?” Alexander sighed boredly, and Thomas remained focused, eyes on the screen as he clicked the end of the cheap mechanical pencil twice to dispense the lead and began to scribble letters onto the page in front of him, slanting off the lines due to his distraction, but it seemed like he was on too much of a roll to consider stopping for the sake of neatness. To Alexander’s surprise, Thomas answered. 

“The key word has to be at the beginning of the grid.” he licked the pad of his thumb, flicking it over his tongue before turning the page so hard he almost tore it off, continuing to scribble as he did so. The book on ciphers was discarded to the side now, Thomas having replaced it with the notebook in front of him. That was when Alexander noticed for the very first time that Thomas was writing with his left hand. 

He watched in fascination, as Thomas moved his wrist in tiny movements that created loopy letters, some attached to each other and some not. It was almost hypnotising to Alex to watch… to see the words and messages bloom from nothing but a flick of the wrist--something comprehensible to everyone but him appear from thin air onto the page. 

“But we only see random letters. That’s fine.” Thomas kept talking through a tight jaw, glancing up at the Schuyler file before looking down, never stopping for a second as he wrote, as if the idea would disappear from his mind and take everything with it without a trace, “When all we have to do is see which letters are out of alphabetical order. That’s how we’ll know when the abbreviation ends. But it has to end eventually.” he clipped, glancing back and forth rapidly, hand seeming to move faster and faster as he jotted down, “And once we find the end,” he rolled his wrist violently to circle something, breaking the lead off the end of the pencil he had been scratching the paper so hard. 

Alexander tried to remain lax, but his eyes widened in surprise, “We have our keyword…” Thomas breathed. Neither of them moved.

He carefully, quietly set the pencil down in the crease of the notebook, a couple sheets falling lightly closed as they stared.

The dust from the storm settled, and Alex slowly sat up, gradually leaning forward to peer at Thomas’s scrawled handwriting, so far from his usual neatness. Someone shuffled by their alcove, but neither of them really noticed. They were both honed in on Thomas’s work that only one of them could read. Alex dragged the edge towards himself, placing an elbow quietly on the table. 

“And?” he inquired, and Thomas ran a hand down over his face before smoothing his hair on the back of his neck.   
“It’s not just a word, Allie." his voice was almost... dreading, "It’s a place.”

Alex bit his lower lip, concentrating as he observed the pencil characters in light grey spinning and swirling out of sight. 

“N,Y,C.” Thomas shook his head, “There’s no way in hell that’s a coincidence. No way in hell.”

“You sure?” Alexander lightly brushed his fingertips over the three large letters that Thomas had circled on the page, brushing off the shattered dusting of lead he had broken onto the table.   
“Sure as I’ve ever been. It's the keyword.” Thomas’s tone showed nothing but certainty, and Alexander cast a glance to his face to double-check, only to find that he was telling the truth unmistakably. 

Wow. Alex had gotten them started off, and Thomas had finished the deed. Alexander couldn’t help the smile he felt tugging at the corner of his lip where the smirk usually occupied. This feeling was one he remembered like it was yesterday. The feeling of the pair working together, combining as a team with no distractions, nothing holding them back. So different, yet  _ so  _ alike. 

“Well, well. It seems you’re a genius, Thomas Jefferson.” his eye twinkled as he looked up at Thomas, picking up the pencil to place it between his teeth, rolling it. The larger leaned back into his seat as if exhausted, “Well done.” Alex finished.

“Mm.” Thomas grunted. Alex just turned his attention back to the Schuyler file. That blinking cursor. Why blinking? For a long few moments, the two just let that idea sink in. NYC. New York City. After over two hours of nonstop searching, they had happened upon the answer that was hidden in plain sight all along, but Thomas could almost feel that it was only going to get more difficult from here on out. Not to mention they only had the keyword, not the cipher. And Schuyler’s message “HEED THE NAME”--whatever that meant. Heed the name of what?

Thomas’s thoughts were distracted by Alex’s voice.

“So.” Alex leaned back too so that he was even with Thomas, turning his head to look right into his eyes. The boy laid his arm across the back of Thomas’s chair, just to make him feel like he was the superior one in this whole enterprise, “Looks like the old friends are headed to the Reaper’s hometown.” Alexander couldn’t help his smile, “The City that Never Sleeps.” he quoted on a sigh, and Thomas turned his face to him, watching. Alex just tossed his chin. 

“Think you can handle that kinda life?” the boy smiled.

Thomas could feel his breath on his face, sharp and minty, and smell the warmth of his cologne wafting between them. The lavender meeting Thomas’s more manly scent. Their faces were closer than Thomas had anticipated, close enough that he could see the glistening of saliva on Alexander’s lower lip where he had bit it. He could see the hint of his body and small figure through the thin fabric on his chest, rising and falling steadily with breath.

“We’re not going anywhere until we solve the rest of the cipher. That's my word on it.” Thomas established. His tone darkened as he turned away from the boy, not wanting to get ensnared in one of his little mind games, “And we’re not going anywhere near Harlem, baby boy, so get that in your head.” 

“Oh, of course.” Alexander agreed, and Thomas knew that when he did this little behavior, there was always a catch to his easy accordance. And, on cue, Alex flicked one of his brows provocatively.    
“That is, unless Ms. Schuyler says so, pretty-boy.” Alexander smirked, settling back in his seat and gesturing to the file with his head. Thomas rubbed a thumb over the bridge of his nose, squeezing it for a moment. 

“I hardly think she happened to hit Harlem on the first leg of her trip, Alexander.”    
“Mm?” Alexander squinted, pursing his lips like Thomas should rethink that statement, “The Big Apple is awfully close to good-old mafia-riddled Harlem.” Alexander spun the pencil around his fingers before tossing it over to Thomas, who flicked his hand up and caught it smoothly over his shoulder with a smack. Alexander’s eyes glinted with entertainment, with the hunt. That brain of his was stimulated. 

“We’ll see.” Alex finished mysteriously, placing his hands on the edge of the table to push his wood chair across the old-fashioned carpet. Thomas’s head followed him as he stood, straightening the arms of his expensive dress shirt. 

“And where do you think you’re going?” Thomas growled in a low monotone, a warning to Alexander to watch himself. And watch himself… carefully. Alex shrugged, looking as sophisticated as ever as he cooly tossed back his long hair,

“Gotta pee.” he spoke, “I assume I don’t need permission for that, right?” and Thomas rolled his eyes, lips parting as he softly closed the Schuyler file.

“Don’t tempt me, Alexander.” he monotoned on a sign and began to gather the things. They'd really made a mess on that table; it was going to be hard to bring everything up to the apartment. 

“I say we take this upstairs, shall we?” Thomas stacked the notebook on top of the _ Guide to Ciphers--Cryptology and the History of Coded Messages  _ and the Schuyler file. Alexander huffed a small, amused laugh. 

“Now you’re talking my language.” he remarked with a smile, walking off around the table and towards the center of the library. Only Thomas could notice his struggle not to go full limp. He walked awkwardly, listing to the side a little bit as if to try and take pressure off of where he was hurting. Thomas would’ve found this amusing in any other context, but what they had just been doing took any humor away from watching Alexander’s lurching gait from behind. 

Why in God’s name would Alexander even talk about going back to Harlem? It was so beyond Thomas; he couldn’t even begin to form a hypothesis on why. Why would Alexander ever think of returning to that wretched place that he despised, that he hadn’t once returned to since the day he left, not even looking back. Of course, he was probably bluffing just to mess with Thomas; the kid did that when he was bored. Thomas tucked a bit of his shirt back under his belt, and the metallic glint of the Schuyler file managed to catch his eye. 

He put his knuckles to his lips and stared for a few seconds. Against the skin of his fist, he spoke.

“What the hell are you…” he grumbled, pulling it off the edge of the table with the rest of the stack and tucking it up under his arm as he bent forward to stand for the first time all afternoon. Both his hips and his knees popped like Rice Krispies as he stood, reminding him of how much he needed to get to the gym today. 

At least they had found the keyword, and the only thing to do next was to decipher the message. It still perplexed him how it could only be  _ one  _ line. That was it. The whole file was just one line of code; nothing was coming together. He could only hope that it listed a location where he could find the rest of the information, or at least one that would give them a good start to this mission--a lead they could go on. Still… something felt wrong. Something felt off in Thomas’s gut. The question now was what could it be? 

But one thing seemed for sure. Whether Thomas liked it or not, Alex was right. This is the only piece of information they had--all they had to go on in the first place.

Now, Thomas’s initial impulse when he and Alex had started to work on this was to head straight to Philadelphia, the place of Armistead’s murder, and investigate the jail that Burr had been supposedly imprisoned in before being apparently broken out. That was all they knew, but there had to be more. 

However… Washington had told them in their briefing the day Alexander was released that all information on Burr had been wiped from the jail’s records. There was nothing there to investigate in the first place if even the Tech Department couldn’t scrounge anything up. The only knowledge they had on it was in that unsolicited and untraceable image Schuyler had sent them of 'Burr's' mugshot and her unfinished message to go along with it. 

All they had left were Schuyler’s ciphers, her twisted little way of hiding the information they so desperately needed to save her life. Ironic, Thomas thought. She had used this method to safeguard her findings, but never thought that in the end they would be the only thing stopping them from finding her. 

The Virginian sniffed, pushing in Alex’s chair with his foot, because of course the little shit hadn’t bothered. And suddenly, he was thinking about his conversation with Laurens as he stepped away from the table, _this_ close to accidentally smashing his dick into the corner as he passed. He bit his lip, huffing as he awkwardly bent over to snag both his and Alexander's suit jackets from the backs of the chairs, picking up after him like he was five years old. 

Nevertheless, he set off across the space to stand outside the bathroom and wait for Alexander. For some reason, he didn't feel like leaving without him.

Waiting for him would do just fine. 

  
  



	23. People in White Coats

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all SO much for the wait! It means so much to me that you all are being so kind and patient with me during this time, and I absolutely promise more frequent updates very soon! 
> 
> Your love and support means the world to me. Please keep being your awesome selves, everyone. I love you <3 <3 I hope with all of my heart that you enjoy this chapter! Next one coming soon :D <3

**May, 2052**

Thomas concentrated, focusing in and squinting on the movement of his left hand as he dragged the crayon across the page. He was sitting on one of those plastic cushioned benches in the doctor’s office hallway, right outside the examination room where his parents were talking quietly together. 

The crayon rolled, waxy across the lined page of the notebook he always drew in, one he had found for free on orientation day for Hawkings’ Preparatory High School where he was in attendance. The crayons he had always just had, picked them up from the art room or from the few restaurants that offered them that he was allowed to go to. Jaw tight, he concentrated on concluding the line he was working on in red. 

He had seen other kids his age--ten--scribbling stick figures when they drew, but he wanted his to look perfect. Or else what the hell was the point? He was deep in his mind and page as he always was, quiet and focused as the woman approached in a white coat. Thomas hated people in white coats. They walked around like they were somehow inherently better than anyone else all the way down to the nucleotides of their DNA, and he knew for a fact that they weren’t. The woman had fake highlights and rimmed glasses along with a bob haircut around her chin, and she gave him a tight smile as she came by, more of a grimace he thought. 

She was Dr. Grimes; he knew her name well, but they’d never had a conversation. She was the director of the Board of Health at Hawkings’, and now she strode by him, casting a sideways glance down at the notebook Thomas was drawing on. Her eyes flicked to his pack of crayons as well, but she just looked away, pasting on a smile for the people inside as she entered the room, ignoring Thomas like she wished he wasn't there.

Thomas couldn’t have noticed less. He was busy. 

Through the thin walls, he could hear every word of the muffled conversation as her heels tapped on the floor. 

Dr. Grimes sighed on entry, clicking the door closed behind her with care, “Hello Mr. and Mrs. Jefferson--thank you again for meeting with me today.” There was the shuffling of some people sitting down with, a clipboard being placed on a table perhaps as well. 

Thomas was indifferent, having been here more times than he could count. He was well worn to the motions, and he kept to himself while the daily life of the medical wing continued around him. It was like everyone there knew him, all of the nurses, but they never talked to him. If they tried to, he just kept drawing like they weren’t there, and eventually they would give up and shuffle away awkwardly. There was nothing wrong with Thomas conversationally; he could hold a polite conversation as well as anyone. He just had absolutely no desire to. 

He switched his crayons from red to a black, tucking it back in the cardboard packet in the slot where it belonged. 

“Can we help you in some way, Dr. Grimes?” his mother asked in her  _ slightly  _ passive aggressive voice,  _ just  _ enough to move a conversation along. It was so backhandedly rude the way she did that to people, and Thomas hated it. Being chief of surgery, she was good at that. Always had been, Thomas knew. Someone cleared their throat, and there was some more movement before another voice. Thomas watched with half an eye as a man with a rattling cart passed in front of him, continuing on his drawing. 

“The school and I have been having more… concerns about Thomas’s behavior this month that we'd like to speak with you about.”

“What’s changed?” his father tuned in with a dry tone, already prepared to get this over with. They were both busy people, but there was a reason they both had to be there for these meetings, and they just wanted to get out of there and drive back home, leave Thomas to his studies three hours away like all his siblings. 

Yet they always had to come out there for him. Him only. They made sure that was known. 

“Well, Mr. Jefferson,” Mrs. Grimes clipped, voice tight as she was turning around in her seat to apparently grab something. There was a muffled crinkle of paper.    
“The behaviors we’ve been monitoring seem to be escalating. I have to first note that he makes exceptional grades as you can see by his current transcript. Excellent, you don’t see many ten-year-olds start high school, now do you?” 

“You called us here to go over his grades, Dr. Grimes.” his mother stated coldly. It wasn’t a question. Thomas could feel the pause in the pit of his stomach as he started to draw faster, focusing on the colors on the page instead of the conversation inside of the room. His dark black eyes squinted behind his long lashes at the roof of the car he was drawing. He hated that there were ugly blue lines slashed through his drawing. Lined paper was meant for school, and he just wanted to do one thing in his life without the reminder. It infuriated him.

“No. No ma’am.” Grimes’s voice was lower, obviously a little rubbed the wrong way by Thomas’s parents, but everyone was, “See, he makes excellent grades, but he doesn’t pay any attention in class. And--of course, as you know--we took anti-cheating measures in the fall just to be sure, but he seems to make those grades on his own without unauthorized assistance.” there was a shuffle of paper and feet on the floor. The rolling of doctor-stool wheels across tile. 

Thomas hated the smell of the doctor’s office, especially the one here at school. Rubbing alcohol and hand sanitizer. It made him want to hit something. His parents and everyone around him knew that he had migraines like clockwork, and the strong smells were a huge fucking help.

“His…” the woman searched for something with a rustle, bending over by the sound of her voice, “teachers have collected more drawings that he does during class--none of them school-related. I have them here for you to take a look at.”

“Are the drawings presenting the same themes?”

“Yes, Mr. Jefferson,” Grime answered professionally, “cars. Many different cars in action, on a racing track, most frequently in what appears to be action movie scenes. Are either of you particularly passionate about cars? Perhaps he could be picking it up from a sibling or another extended family member?” 

“No.” Mrs. Jefferson cut in, “It’s just him.” 

Thomas looked down, scribbling harder. Now he was shading in with the red once again, so he could take the liberty of being messy and uncontrolled. Who was going to stop him? As the talking inside of the room went on, his blood pressure seemed to rise parallel with every word. The feeling was so familiar, yet he would never come to terms with its presence. He wanted to reach inside his chest and rip it out, tear it out of him. The frustration and anger built, swelled in his gut like a red-hot balloon about to rupture. He breathed a little heavier as he kept drawing, brows furrowed in concentration.

Just focus on the car. 

“Are you telling us that the new medications are having no effect.”    
“Well,” Dr. Grimes started again, and Thomas pressed down harder. He hated this talk. He had heard it over, and over, and  _ over,  _ and it just made him want to scream. Throw his fist through something or someone, he didn’t care. The more they talked, the more he felt himself starting to slowly lose control, his anger snowballing on a downhill slope. Just draw, just draw, just draw...

“His chart shows that you’ve had him on his first three medications since he was six. He started two more before he arrived at the school, and since then we’ve prescribed an extra four medications--replacing one in October--for his migraines, and OCD. Depression was a side effect of the Nurtec, so we put him on 20 milligrams of Prozac daily as well.” There was the sound of a pen being tapped on a clipboard as she walked them through it once again.

“And of course for his anger management issues--or IED--we have him on two medications--”   
“All due respect, Dr. Grimes, we understand the medications our son is taking.” Thomas felt his breathing start to accelerate, the anger surging up at his mother’s voice. Why couldn’t anyone find a fucking solution to fix him? Why did five siblings turn up perfectly fine and then  _ him.  _

“Yes. Um, Mrs. Jefferson, the dean of the school and Thomas’s teachers came together last week. That's why you're here today. They wanted me to bring to your attention six more incidents this month that we’ve had to put on his record. You can see them here.” 

Thomas pressed down hard, the scratching of the wax on the paper still not nearly loud enough to drown out the sound. 

“For example, on the thirteenth when another student in his AP Chemistry asked to borrow a sheet of notebook paper, he refused, and when she asked again, he hit her and had to have two teachers restrain him before we could make sure he and the rest of the students were safe. And here: as per your request, sir and ma’am, Thomas has his own solitary dorm room to focus on his medical studies.”

“Of course.” Mrs. Jefferson answered. Thomas pressed harder, knuckles white. He had rolled up the starchy cuffs of his uniform, but they were beginning to come back down, itchy on his arm. He had sensitive skin, and he didn’t know if this was a side-effect from one of his nine medications, but he didn’t give a fuck regardless. 

“During dorm checks we found that he had broken the post of his bed and punched a hole in his door that needed to be repaired by our staff along with two broken knuckles on his left hand. He is safe now, but to keep him safe, the medical staff and I are forced to suggest--”

“Up his IED medications and switch to a stronger or added SSRI.” his mom interrupted coolly. At the sound of her voice, Thomas forced himself to breathe through his nose, jaw tight. He hated listening to himself plead in his mind that they would just switch to something stronger instead of adding another medication. 

He hated it. He hated it all; there wasn’t a stronger word for the hate and disgust and utter fucking repulsion he felt when he gagged on pills, the bitterness dissolving in his mouth, eyes watering profusely as he tried desperately to swallow them over and over again because he knew he had to. And nobody was there. Nobody was there to hold the water bottle for him as he coughed, nobody was there to say that they get it. They have just as many useless capsules of chalk to ingest every morning. 

Nobody was there. 

It was just... Thomas. Thomas and his drawings in his empty dorm room.

Dr. Grimes sighed, sounding muffled like she was rubbing her brow, “Mrs… Jefferson, it is clear that medication can only do so much for Thomas. It isn’t working, and that is the truth.” Grimes spoke, and there was a fraction of a second’s pause, “The staff and I are suggesting that you sign him up for anger management counseling. That way he could alter his behavioral issues from the outside. I’ve brought you information on several clinics--”

“Dr…” his mom started passive-aggressively once again.    
“Grimes.” she filled in tightly.

“Yes. I think I’ve been unclear about how I want you to proceed with him, so let me be more obvious. Take his Prozac down to ten milligrams and start him on ten milligrams of imipramine this week.” his mother sighed, “Peter, collect your things. We’re leaving--”

“Mrs. Jefferson, I really must ask you to reconsider this.” There was the sound of wheels rolling across the tiled floor and two clunks of his mother’s high heels as well. She was clearly standing up, terse and flustered in that prestigious sort of way.

“And I really must ask you, Dr. Grimes, if you are chief of surgery at any facility. Now, I’m obligated to come here and listen to this, but one of us went to med school longer, and I know from what I’ve seen that a chemically ingrained issue requires a chemically ingrained solution.”

“Jane…” Mr. Jefferson started quietly, but she went on.    
“Let me put this in the simplest of terms, Dr. Grimes. If Thomas needed an appendectomy, would you make me drive out here again and tell me that he needs to learn to live with a ruptured appendix? Talk to someone about how he felt about it, perhaps? Get a therapist?” 

Thomas pressed down harder, harder. The red on his page seemed to fill his eyes, fill his entire vision. It flooded through his mind, attacking him so that all he could see was red. His mother started to speak in a more hushed tone, but Thomas’s hearing was acute enough to pick up every syllable. There was a jingle of a purse being picked up from inside the room.

“Thomas has three brothers in med school with full rides to be surgeons and two more already starting their residency programs in their respective hospitals.” Thomas scribbled and scribbled, anger building up until the tip of his crayon shattered and broke on his page, leaving an ugly dot and a dusting of cracked wax. 

“There’s something wrong with him. And pharmaceuticals have the solution, because he is going to be a surgeon like his brothers.” 

Thomas didn’t listen to one sentence more. Not like he could hear anything right now through the ringing that had steadily grown in the inner core of his ears. Lips screwed up, he swiped his crayons off the chair, slamming his notebook closed with a slap of paper on his lap. He could feel the little pinpricks at the corners of his eyes of tears, and he scraped his shoulder across his face violently, the starchiness rubbing his skin roughly so that it felt raw.

He hated this place. Hated this uniform, hated the muffled talking through the walls and all of the scientific name of chemicals that were supposed to change him into a different person so that he could get through boarding school and be molded into yet another excellent Jefferson of many. The reek of the rubbing alcohol, the cold glare of the fluoresecnts is what did it for him as he stood up, jaw clenched, and lunged away from that stupid bench he was always forced to sit on as the people inside the room decided on his future. 

He couldn’t listen to it anymore. He wouldn’t. 

A lady in scrubs gasped as Thomas strode by and nearly pushed her, much taller than anyone else his age so that he almost-- _ almost--  _ blended in with every other freshman that was four years older than him. He could only see through a tiny tunnel of peripheral vision as he stormed away, chest heaving with breath as if he couldn’t breathe, as if he was running out of oxygen. 

He broke--full stride--into the single-person bathroom, busting through the door and slamming it so hard behind him that he could feel the reverbertions in his teeth. Locking it behind him with fumbling fingers, he didn’t even care if the walls were sound proof. It didn’t matter when everyone already knew there was “something wrong with him”. The words flooded his mind as his small chest rose and fell, rose and fell, leaning against the door with all of his weight. He gripped the notebook at his side, digging his nails into it. 

  
_ “Add ten milligrams of impiramine… there’s something wrong with him… he’s going to be a surgeon like all of his brothers…”  _

As they echoed in his head, bouncing off the walls of his skull with lancing pain, his hands shakily, shakily raised the pack of crayons and notebook up to his face, slow.... He stared at them, seething with agony. He was trapped.

All of the cars he had drawn. All of the lunch periods he had spent sitting with people he pretended not to hate. Counting to ten and back more times in a single day than anyone else did in their entire life. His temper took control of him; his eyes welled up with rageful tears of pain and agony of being  _ trapped.  _ Before he knew what was happening, he had screwed up his lips, face contorting with rage. He raised his notebook, the crayons,

And he screamed in fury as he slammed them down onto the tile floor of the bathroom. Reeled back and smashed them onto the ground at his feet.

The cardboard pack of crayons exploded, sending them rolling and scattering to the corners of the walls, some breaking their tips and some shattering all together as they flew from the box. His notebook landed face down with a smack and rustle, pages splayed out and bent underneath the covers. 

_ “Could he be picking it up from a sibling or an extended family member?” “No. It’s just him.” _

Thomas’s eyes blurred with tears, but he fought them back. He wouldn’t be that person. He choked, eyes falling on the pathetic little rack in the bathroom of towels and little cups for urine samples to be taken in. He heard the conversation play in his mind as he reeled back and kicked it as hard as he could, the contents crashing to the ground along with the shelf itself. 

He still wasn’t finished. He kicked the rack over, and over, and over again, grunting and growling with rage each time. He was always a slave to his temper’s bidding. There was nothing he or anyone could do to control it. He didn’t want pills. He didn’t want medication. He didn’t want someone to fix him. He didn’t want to stay at his boarding school and go to med school. He didn’t want to be a surgeon. He didn’t even know that all he wanted was someone to want him. Anger issues and all. He wanted to drive cars. He wanted so many things even though he had everything...

As he kicked it the last time, Thomas stumbled backwards in exhaustion, hands falling onto the edge of the porcelain sink. He was exhausted as all of his weight fell into it, making him feel as if his wrists would crack just supporting him. His arms trembled, shook as he panted violently, his sharp breaths echoing in to the bowl of the sink as his head fell forward, staring down into it at the metal drain. For a long time, he just stood there in the bathroom he had wrecked and torn apart with the monster inside of him. Crayons strewn along with the wreckage of the rack. 

What had he done?

God, what had he done?

But it didn't matter anymore. Did it. Either way he was getting more medication. Either way he was headed back to his solitary dorm room with his textbooks and empty walls to go to sleep and live another day. Thinking about the havoc he had just wreaked on the room, he couldn't help the thought running through his mind, _"you can't help but prove them right, can you, Thomas?"_ The little voice in his head taunted him as he squeezed his eyes shut, gripping the edge of the sink with his cold palms. 

Silently, without a hint of any sound, his chest started to shake. 

Eyes squeezed shut, teeth gritted together with lips curled back, head fallen to his chest, he began to tremble. And it gained a rhythm as he sobbed silently 

The wracks weren't too painful at first until he started shaking his head back and forth, rocking on his palms.   
  


"I hate you..." he whispered through the squeaking, cracking sobs, the tears plinking into the sink beneath him. He had no idea if he was talking to his parents. To the school. To himself. Probably all of them at once. As his body shook in the silence with quiet agony, he lifted his face from the sink bowl to the mirror, arms and shoulders still collapsed in on his wrists, relying on them to hold his shaking weight. 

His eyes were red and swollen, his dark lashes clumped together in an ugly mess. His young face looked so much older than it truly was with his slicked back hair, his blackness in his empty eyes. he shook his head again at the mirror, scanning his blotchy face. 

"I hate you." he spoke again, and as soon as the airy words had leaked out, he gritted his teeth again, letting his head fall back down to his chest. On any other Occassion, he would have reared back and punched the mirror. Swung at it until it shattered and rained down in shards at his feet. But something inside him was just... tired today. 

Something inside him was broken like the wrinkled notebook of colored cars and dreams on the floor behind him. 

  
  


* * *

**July 27, 2065**

George Washington drew in a long sigh, setting down the paper in his hand once he had heard the knock. 

“Hamilton, come in.” he called in an even tone that somehow resounded clearly across his airy office, all the way to the double doors. He flicked a thumb over both brows, staring down at the paper in front of him instead of the boy entering, the groan of the door echoing in his spacey office to reveal his top agent. He knew the boy had been coming: he had called him there.

Now, Washington had looked over these papers in front of him more times than he could count, yet each time, they brought a swelling sort of emotion, not pleasant and not particularly unpleasant, into his chest. It was conflicted, disgusted, and yet in many ways impressed. These papers were the cumulative records for the suspected murders Alexander had committed before his engagement with the FBI--collected by Lafayette himself as well as some other investigating agents. And Washington. 

It was easy to say that Alexander did not leave much of a trail--that much was obvious. Just by pure guesswork, anyone could see that this file was far from complete. And perhaps it never would be. Yet Washington looked over it again and again…. Thinking. 

“Sir.” Alexander spoke with a nod of his head, and Washington looked up at him for the first time. 

There was a sense of regret in his heart upon looking at him. A sense of frustration, of doubt. 

They swirled inside of his stoic body as the boy lifted his chin, tucking his hands into his pockets in a manner that was as far from shy or unsure as one could get. It was clear in the glint of his hazel irises that he had no qualms about being here, especially at this time of night. He wasn’t swaggering as he walked; it was more sophisticated than that, a stride men and women took decades to attain where Alexander had it down after his measly seventeen years. 

Washington breathed in, shuffling the papers in front of him as he leaned back into his leather chair. Of course, it would be natural that the boy would be more accustomed to a position of power--even with his lack of years--than any adult either of them knew. Except, of course, Washington himself. 

In addition this, the Director knew that he and Alexander had many things in common besides just the way they walked. And this fact brought Washington closer to the boy undeniably, giving him a liking towards his newest sniper despite all of his misdemeanors. It felt like after every press conference he was dragging Alexander out for a word, and James Madison was dragging Thomas Jefferson in a different direction for a similar conversation, the two partners craning to not lose eye contact as they were taken by the scruffs of their necks in different directions. 

It astounded George how close two people could be to each other--kindred spirits it seemed. It didn't take an eagle's eye to see that they went everywhere together, did everything together. They had separate apartments in HQ, but they might as well have both moved into Alex’s and called it a day with the way they spent every waking hour with each other. Inseparable, George thought. 

He often found himself wondering now how long it was going to last…

Now the polished tops of the notorious sniper’s Louis Vittons glittering in the light as the leather soles tapped down onto the marble floor of the office, his pants shuffling as he strolled inside, shoulders back, chin up. His hair was neatly brushed back, swooping down his neck and tucked behind his ears even though locks fell on the front of his shoulders too, honey brown and thick like a lion’s mane. He wore his black tie with impeccable knotting at the crisp white collar at his throat, and he smiled, showing the characteristic feature that threw off the adult-level confidence--the braces. 

Washington pursed his lips, clearing his throat slightly. Having the braces didn’t make him seem any more childish or innocent. They made him seem monstrous that a child had committed such atrocities to other human beings: his mind was on this now due to his proximity to Alex’s papers. 

He was a competent and attractive boy, George was proud to say. Strong despite the scrawny figure, smarter than was fathomable too. For the blissfully blind naked eye, Alexander Hamilton seemed like he could be a very well-mannered young gentleman, hands tucked in his pockets, suit unbuttoned in the neatest of ways with his cute little tie hanging down over his flat chest. George had known otherwise for a long time, but he did not look down on the boy for it.

Tonight, before he had asked Alexander to come, he had observed his papers--his medical records, his name on suspect lists, his entire confidential transcript for the trial for the murder of his father (something that particularly made Washington feel that odd sense of swelling in his chest)--dug into every piece of his history that he didn’t yet already know. And one thing was certainly odd about the sniper he had studied so deeply. 

Washington had only recently realized this minor and seemingly unimportant detail after looking at the papers yet again. 

He had seen a lot in his day--in and out of the FBI. From his time in the field and his input from James Madison at the mental and detainment facility outside of Headquarters, he had learned people with psychopathic tendencies usually left a more trackable trail--a pattern--of harm to animals and helpless creatures since, well, harm to them wasn’t considered as serious as manslaughter. And it was easy. Easy to maim something helpless.

However, Alexander had left not a trace, not a whiff of ever hurting anything smaller than himself. Not so much as a New York rat. Not so much as a fly. Hauntingly, it was only… people. 

“Sir. How are you?” Alex inquired with a smile, holding the front of his suit with one elegant hand, the other in his pocket, “I was almost on my way to bed. Glad I got your request for summons before I went down.” 

Washington looked up to him again, folding the papers in half over the well-worn crease, just barely tilting them out of Alexander’s view as the kid approached across the cavernous space filled with shelves of tiny trinkets, inventions, and drones buzzing overhead, but there was only one up there now seeing that it was late in the night, swirling around with a dull buzzing of propellers. An eerie sort of noise. 

The Director’s brows twitched down for but a moment. There was something odd in Alex’s tone tonight. He had heard it before here and there, but for some reason now he  _ really  _ heard it. Perhaps it was that they were alone tonight, senses heightened with the lack of hustle and bustle in the bureau.

“Yes. As am I.” George responded politely, reaching down near his knee to pull open one of the filing cabinet drawers with a “shunk!”, and daintily place the papers back into the dull green file folder surrounded by the rest of the plain, manila folders like an emerald in the sand. Alex noticed the smallest of movements, and this one was easy to see. He could easily observe that George was hiding something, that he was putting on a professional air despite other thoughts running through his head.

Alex’s heart jumped as he bit his lip hard to avoid a smirk, instead, he pulled his brows together in faux concern. This was what he had been expecting. This was what he'd been wanting to see.

“Everything alright, sir?” he queried in his high voice, running his tongue over his brackets behind his lips, hidden, and the tap of feet stopped in front of the desk. Washington knew he was there, so there was no point in avoiding eye contact anymore. He turned his face up towards his agent and sighed once again. 

“Quite, Agent Hamilton; please take a seat.” he motioned with a hand to the chair across from his desk, but Alexander just placed the heels of his palms on the edge, leaning on them with his weight so that it creaked. This time, there was definitely something in those eyes that George could see undeniably.

There was a pause as Alex just… eyed Washington like the director was the one getting questioned and observed tonight. This time, Alexander pursed his lips, eyes darting all up and down George’s face. It was an action that was familiar to the director, yet watching his agent stand, slightly leaned in front of him, tie swaying an inch like a pendulum from his neck as his hair fell forward in strands like a waterfall… it was an odd sort of energy radiating from him.

And just like that, it was completely over as if it had never happened.

Alexander unpressed his lips, the curvy feature flushing with color and a glistening sheen as the blood flowed back into them, and they settled into a content expression. The boy pushed off from the desk and sidestepped cleanly in front of the chair, placing his hand on the arms so that he could lower down with the other holding his tie to his belly. All the while, Washington watched him, still feeling uneasy--something that never happened to a man such as he, so stoic and sure of himself. 

Perhaps he shouldn’t have been reading Alexander’s file before telling him this crucial piece of information that he was planning to disclose to Alex a day before he told Thomas just because he favored the boy more. But now, after viewing the file, he was thrown off his game, and they both knew it. Alexander certainly did. 

The kid exhaled, speaking as he leaned forward and lowered down into the seat, hand still at his torso.

“I must say, excellency, I was a little surprised to hear from you.”   
“Were you?” Washington folded his hands together in front of himself on the table, shaking his head slightly. He was glad to be starting dialogue, hoping it would shake off his odd emotions.

Alex leaned back into the leather chair, placing his other hand on the arm of it with the most unmentionable elegance. The kid wrinkled his nose, smiling.    
“Just a bit.” 

“Why is that, Agent Hamilton?” Washington inquired, polite but a little perplexed. Was he sensing something off about Alex, or was he himself still shaken from going through those damn papers again--seeing Alexander through a different lens? The sniper just lifted his left leg and crossed it over his right, sitting up against the back of the chair so he hardly seemed as small as he really was. 

“Well. It’s eleven.” Alex answered. There was a pause where the two people, the seventeen-year-old and the thirty-four-year-old just stared at each other.   
“Yes.” George prompted him to go on, and Alex shrugged nonchalantly. He frowned as he shifted his hips slowly, raising one hand to prop his chin up on top of his thumb, elbow on the chair’s arm. 

“What kind of conversations usually transpire at eleven, George?” Alexander spoke, without his jaw moving too much, and George’s attention was on the kid’s rings. He wore three, one on every other finger, and they were clearly the purest diamonds on the market, glittering and clear--George would know. But he wasn’t distracted enough not to notice where Alex made his first mistake. 

The director cleared his throat again, tapping his thumbs to each other in his interocked position.

“I don’t think ‘George’ is appropriate, Mr. Hamilton.”

“Oh, of course,” Alex’s voice showed not a hint of remorse as his lip twitched into a smirk, “Sir.” he said it in a tone that wasn’t… sarcastic? It was close, but it wasn’t mocking enough. George couldn’t put his finger on what was going on here, but he continued their conversation anyway, looking to brush it off. This wouldn't be the first time Alexander had acted in odd ways to throw people off. 

As he opened his mouth to speak again, Alexander interrupted, talking instead. The foot that was raised off the ground bounced lazily as he spoke. 

“You know, I think eleven is the perfect time to try out something new.” the kid tapped his fingers on the leather arm of the chair, casual.    
George closed his mouth, lost. He shuffled his feet on the ground, the pant legs of his silver suit rustling. 

“Wine, Excellency.” Alex filled in for him, flicking a brow up in this odd manner that was in some way malevolent, “You do like wine, don’t you?” 

George blinked, “I don’t see how this is relevant, Agent Hamilton.” he deepened his voice so that it was firmer, trying to get them back on track, but Alex seemed like he was working towards something else, slowly guiding a blind Washington to an unnamed destination. 

“Oh no, I think you do.” Alex shook his head, but he said this in the kindest, most sympathetic of tones, “And come on, seriously, call me Allie.” he released his chin and folded his hands down into his lap, elbows still up on the chair’s arms. He bounced his foot again, so very relaxed and at ease in this position. Sitting up in the Director of the FBI’s office at nearly midnight. George would have put down a firm hand on this nonsense and carried on to the subject of this meeting, but he was having an off-night. That was clear as he hesitated too long and let Alexander take the reins. 

“So,” Alex smiled kindly at him, opening his hands for a moment in a polite gesture, “Tell me, what do you prefer? Red wine.” he gestured his hands slowly to one side, Washingtons’ icy eyes drawn to the movement. The pupils followed Alex’s hands, and the kid smirked upon watching him, “...or white wine.” he shifted his hands over to the other side, Washington’s eyes following. Alex could only hope the director’s mind was following the gist too. 

Alexander paused his hands in the middle with a shrug, “Or both?” 

Washington made his first mistake when he answered confidently, not understanding what Alex was asking or implying beneath the metaphors. Any other day, he would have picked it up that the sniper was digging into a personal question. A sexual preferences question.

“I enjoy both on a regular basis.” he pulled his chair in closer to his desk with a rolling sound of wheels on marble before he halted, placing his hands on the arms. 

“Thought so.” Alex nodded in smug triumph but held it down well. George shook his head slightly.    
“I don’t see what this has to do with the circumstances.”

“Alright, Excellency, how bout I ask why I’m here tonight.” Alex gestured to him with his thumbs, dipping his head but not his eyes. His locks fell in front of his ears, his golden-brown mane. Washington reached into a stand on his desk, glad to be back on track as he selected an expensive ball-point pen from the rack he had received as a gift from James Madison. 

“I wanted to discuss a more…” he opened his hand that didn’t have a pen in it, tilting his head as he found the correct word, “private matter with you.” The writing utensil was black with a silver tip, and he focused on it as he continued to speak. Alex just watched, already getting a little… antsy. He didn’t mind a little bit of stalling, but there was a fine line between a little bit and too much. But he liked that Washington was a formal man who wanted business done his way, so he’d let it slide. As Alexander saw it: better for him.

The director pinched the pen on both ends and rotated it, peering over at Alex this time. He did look like a child with the air of a sovereign sitting before him, making a leather chair look like a throne. He could see him breathing contently beneath his tie and unbuttoned jacket, casual like he was ready to slip out of it. His belly rose and fell gently above the black leather belt he was always sporting with two golden snakes intertwining with one another on his hips.

The man tapped the pen down on the pad of paper that was before him, a thick collection of documents that he had been eyeing alongside Alexander’s on this late night. Documentation upon documentation on a boy called Randolph Emerson to be introduced to the notorious partnership. 

But neither partner knew as of this moment, and that was what Washington was worried about. If he had waited too long.

“It’s not something I wished to speak to you about in Agent Jefferson’s presence as it…” he pursed his lips and cleared his throat, tapping the pen on the paper stack with a dull “pap”, “well I’d like to have your input about it before anything goes public. More of a personal affair between you and I that I’d like to discuss.” 

Instead of the usual reaction he got from Alexander--and adultish wave of his hand and a lean back into his seat like he was at a global conference--he just smirked.

“I understand.”    
There was a hesitation, Washington had both hands on the pen to twist it and slide out the point.

“Pardon?”   
“I said I understand. What, did I forget to say ‘sir’ again?” Alex questioned, lips splitting into a smile so that Washington could see his braces, “Sorry.”   
“How,” the director shook his head, opening the hand that didn’t hold the pen, “can you possibly know what I’m about to propose to you?” his startling blue eyes scanned Alexander’s youthful face, trying to figure him out, “I haven’t begun this meeting yet, Agent Hamilton.”

“Allie, your Excellency.” he corrected swiftly, “And you started this…” Alex tilted his head condescendingly and lifted one hand half an inch to make lazy air-quotes, “‘meeting’ the minute you sent me the summons.” 

“I don’t follow…” Washington gestured in confusion with the pen, and Alexander scoffed a tiny laugh, pointing at Washington with a bobbing finger.    
“You’re good, George. I wasn’t expecting it to happen tonight; not complaining, though. Well, maybe a little.” the kid looked across at him, completely at ease. It was evident in the relaxation of his brow, his lounging posture. He was completely sure of himself. He shrugged, and as he started to talk, he leaned forward. 

Washington could only sit there with that stoney look on his face, his impeccable, manly posture as Alex went on, moving towards him.    
“I never pegged you as the hesitant type, but I like myself a man full of surprises. I mentioned I was surprised to hear from you tonight, so that’s a start. I can work with that.” Alexander stared right into George’s eyes as he slowly slipped off his suit jacket in an ambiguous way that  _ could  _ have been casual if he wasn’t dropping these little bodily hints as he pulled it down his arms, revealing his small figure in the white button-up shirt. 

Alexander spun it off, only not even twisting briefly in his seat to lay it behind him and out of the way. He wouldn’t be needing it. 

“Hamilton…” he was beginning to catch on. Alex noticed it, noticed the movement of his pupils and the way he immediately set down the pen atop the pad of paper he was harboring. At this reaction that Alexander read as unthreatened but only surprised, the kid placed his palms down on the desk in front of him, curling his fingers around the cool edge and digging into the fine wood. Was it redwood? That would be a fair guess. He shrugged with one shoulder.

“Don’t act surprised that I figured you out, George. Come on. ‘Private meeting without Jefferson’? Eleven at night right before you head home?” Alexander shook his head in this…  _ condescending  _ little way, “You could have saved yourself come trouble and cut out the middlemen. Just called me to the penthouse.” 

“I….” George didn’t even shake his head as he spoke, but he lowered his head so that his brow cast a shadow over the aqua of his eyes that now burned midnight blue, “Have no idea what you’re on about, Agent. Hamilton.” he clipped, but something was off about his usual professional tone that made Alex see the green light to continue. Alex wasn't intentionally passing drawn boundaries. He didn't understand George's reaction.

Alexander just tapped his foot as he shifted his weight, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling. For a moment, the kid just looked up there in condescending annoyance before he swung his head back down to George, peering in his eyes with a deep sigh. 

“And you calling me up here in the middle of the night for an unrecorded meeting about ‘private affairs’ isn’t unprofessional?” Alex finished the sentence by standing up slowly, hands still on the edge of George’s desk. In any other situation George would have put an end to this kind of conduct immediately and with a firm hand, but quite frankly he was completely speechless. The fact that Alexander kept one hand on the desk, rapping his fingernails as he slowly pivoted around it, walking around the corner didn’t help him put his racing thoughts in line.

“Look, George, I think we both know what we want here. I think it’s a little unnecessary to keep doing,” he gestured in a circle motion around George’s face as he approached, foot over foot in quiet steps, “this.” he smiled, rapping his fingernails one last time before letting his hand slip off the table, coming up besides George, who turned to face him, staring up. He had a firm face, but his lips were slightly parted now, those dark blue eyes glinting in the light of his office chandelier.

“So let’s just say you have my permission to quit the act. A good act, though, I mean five months?” Alex gritted his teeth with an inhale and shook his head as he sauntered right up to George’s chair, “Jesus Christ, most men that look at me the way you do don’t wait five months to make a move.” The Director made a sound to speak, eyes facing down and flicking back and forth between them as Alexander placed his hands on the arms of Washington’s chair. 

There was a creak as Alex pressed down, leaning forward with his weight in his palms. George could feel Alex’s head radiating from his body, see every breath in his belly as the sniper gripped the arms and tilted his head a bit to look in the Director’s eyes, face getting a bit more serious. What the hell was going on?

“I’m not judging. George.” he established clearly, a bit darker. He walked his feet forward so that for the first time their knees touched. Alex’s lips twitched into a smile at the contact, but George’s face just… stayed open in utter shock. This almost seemed like a nightmare, like something he would wake up from and rub his eyes, drown the dream with a glass of water and skeptically lower his furrowed brow back down to the pillow. But he couldn’t pinch himself now. It was as real as ever as Alexander Hamilton shifted their clothed kneecaps against each other to tease and bit his bottom lip, revealing a glint of his braces and rubber bands as he did so. 

George could see the boy’s eyes sweeping him once up and down, taking in everything in a split second.   
“Fuck, you’re hot…It’s even better up close, ‘your Excellency’.” Alex laughed under his breath, and George could feel it on his face, they were that close. The Director kept his knees together so that Alex couldn’t step between them, frozen in his bewilderment, but it seemed that his agent had other plans. The kid kept smiling as he walked his hands down the arms of the chair, stepping once to swing himself up onto Washington’s lap. 

The weight fell down on his thighs as Alex sat down, their… bodies pressed together. The kid shifted slightly so that Washington could feel everything, feel every muscle that moved, feel the heat seeping from Alex’s clothed skin to his own.

A slice of horror lanced through George’s chest as he immediately placed one hand on Alexander’s chest, bunching up the fabric slightly so he wouldn't touch Alex too much, but it seemed to have the wrong effect, accidentally sending the incorrect message. Alex just moved closer, lowering his eyes to stare down at where they were meeting. 

“Agent… Hamilton…” he warned with a deep growl, unable to hide the unadulterated and blatant outrage. This was disgusting for reasons Alexander couldn't comprehend. This was unmentionable. This was a horrible sin, but Alex continued in his blindness. Geroge asked himself why he couldn't be clear and say no; the Director knew that Alexander would immediately lay off and apologize for the misunderstanding. But he was just... frozen.

George wanted to be anywhere else in the world. He wanted to wake up from this hellish game. Any other day, any other situation he would be handling it with a firm hand. He would put an end to this childish behavior, but this was different because…

This was Alexander.

This was Alexander Hamilton and not anyone else. That’s what left him petrified in shock.

“Shh.” Alex just hushed, calmy running one of his hands down George’s arm as if to soothe him, moving slowly up the suit fabric. George could feel Alexander’s heart beating through his thin, button-up shirt, feel his fingers dipping in and out of the cloth of his suit as he ran it slowly,  _ seductively  _ up towards his shoulder. His face was illuminated in the warm office light, showing off his attractive cheekbones and perky little nose, his curvy, wet lips and his provocatively sharp eyebrows. And those eyes… The kid shook his head slowly, drawing closer.

“Nobody needs to know. Like you said. Things don’t have to go public,” he smiled, and George could feel this…  _ boy’s  _ hand slipping around the back of his neck, feel the warm bands of the rings that he wore against his skin as the kid tapped once as if bored. Just tapping his fingers lazily. Alexander was light, but there was no doubt that the weight on his lap was enough so that it would be hard to get up without tossing the agent. George was trapped in every sense. The scent of Alex’s cologne and the faint smell of a caramel lollipop drowned him, stole his words right from his lungs. 

George grunted and flinched from Alex’s other hand that he hadn’t been paying attention to, making the chair creak. It slid under his buttoned jacket, right around the side of his lower ribs. His fingers settled there, but his thumb stroked calmly up the path of one of his ribs, teasing him. 

“Hamilton… You…” George growled in the lowest tone he could manage, gravelly. There was outrage in his eyes, but Alex smiled at him, tugging a strand of his hair with the hand behind his head.    
“Christ, relax.” he scoffed, toying with his hair until he surged his face right up close to Washington’s, violently digging his fingers and nails into his blonde hair in a sharp change of mood. Angelic to hellish in a split second. The older one growled, but Alex just panted a little, getting out of breath just by being there. Being in such a powerful presence as this man that had looked at him with such pride in his eyes since the moment he showed up at the FBI doors. 

Alex flicked his tongue along the bottom of his own lip, wetting it with a sheen of slick. 

And he whispered so dirtily, “You know, I wanted to do this in your penthouse since we’re both gentlemen. But I can tell by your face that you’re getting a little too ready, so I change my mind.” Alex bit his own lip, hard, as he clenched George’s hair, trying to tilt his head back, but the man was too stoic and strong for Alex to be in charge. Nevertheless, he fisted the hair, and with his hand on George’s rising and falling side, he grabbed the fabric, pulling himself close up to him as he lifted his chin.

He let his lip slip out from between his teeth, almost glaring down in George’s pale blue eyes with lust as he gritted his teeth, clenching his jaw for his next words. 

  
“Right here. Right now.” Alexander kept his head tilted up so that he was staring down at George, less than a centimeter of space between them, 

“Right on your fucking desk.” he spat under his breath, the words hot and humid, dirty and disgusting. George could feel every bit of filth emanating from those words, every molecule of repulsive lust. Brows having been furrowed down for a long time now, George held his hand strong on Alex’s chest, clutching his tie and shirt. And as the boy finished his words, he changed his expression from almost  _ angry _ with sexual desire to a smile. 

That was right before he dived in with an open mouth and smacked it hotly onto George’s. 

“Mmm!” George yelped muffledly into Alex’s mouth, eyes snapping open. His entire mind malfunctioned at the same time, freezing. The lunacy of this... The implications of this conundrum he was experiencing was catastrophic insanity, but he wasn't _doing_ anything. Alexander’s braces clacked painfully against George’s closed teeth, scraping his jeweled brackets across George’s front teeth. The sniper’s tongue lapped dirtily across George’s lips, trying to encourage him to relax and let him in, but they were only kissing--or Alex was only kissing Washington--for a fraction of a second more before the older finally took action. 

The fist on Alexander’s chest clapped down onto his hips along with George’s other hand, gripping his pelvis. Alex’s adrenaline spiked, his testosterone peaking at the feeling. 

“Yeah…” Alex breathed into George’s mouth, still confused about the mixed reaction of no returned kiss but still holding his hips, but he went with it. Maybe it was going to develop into a slut shaming thing? He guessed he’d find out soon enough. 

“Goddamnit--” George sputtered, twisting his head so that Alexander was forced to break contact with their lips, tearing the two apart in a messy disaster. Alex’s hair stuck in stray strands to George’s lips that were basically dripping with Alex’s saliva, awkward and clumsy. Before Alexander could try to go back in for another try and see if George was more comfortable now, the man was still looking away from him, still gripping his hips as he pushed the chair back with the balls of his feet so that it rolled away from the desk. 

In a maneuver Alexander never even saw coming, George held him strong, stood up from the chair with a creak as it rolled away into the office with a squeak of wheels, and  _ shoved  _ Alex off of him. Unfortunately, it was not as clean as the Director imagined it going. 

Alex made a little “Hhhh!” sound as he stumbled backwards and slammed into the desk, and George’s eyes widened. 

  
“Shi--” he spat the curse, lunging forward to hold Alex’s waist so that he wouldn’t hit his head and die. There was a crash as Alex’s shoulder blade collided with the stand of pens that snapped in half, splintering, tumbled off the desk and clattered to the ground, pens scattering and rolling in every possible direction on the marble floor. Alex craned with his neck to not hit his head, sweeping an arm out that batted George’s stack of papers off the desk, sending them fluttering like flapping, beating birds’ wings to the ground. 

He wished George had been more precise about where he threw him, but Alex could work with this chaotic feistiness as he scooted up onto the table and laid down on his back, his spine pressing against the cold surface through his shirt. His hands grappled to find George’s belt as he wrapped his legs tightly around his boss’s hips, breathing heavily now.

Alex wasn’t deliberately or knowingly going far past George’s boundaries. He just… simply didn’t understand. He thought he was reading the signs right--thought that they were both agreeing on this. A shove to him was truly an invitation, not a genuine warning, and he was soon to find that always trusting in his ability to read expressions was a grave mistake. 

“Oh damn, feisty.” he panted messily, trying to sit up a bit, contracting his abs as he finally found George’s leather belt and hooked his hands up under it, yanking him closer by the hips so that they were utterly close to… touching again, but George managed to keep a fraction of a centimeter’s distance. The man grunted, trying to hold Alexander down to the table by his waist as he simultaneously struggled to distance himself from Alex’s attempts. 

This was so wrong. So utterly,  _ horribly  _ wrong, and his entire body was fighting against this with fiber of his being. But Alex just didn’t understand yet. George’s speechlessness was partly to blame for Alexander’s misinterpretation. Instead, Alex growled playfully, pulling on George. 

“Harder than that--”   
“I  _ swear to God,  _ Hamilton, I will--” George snarled in the fatherly tone that Alex recognized to be sexually commanding. 

“Yeah. Mhm--” Alex clipped, utterly out of breath as he let his head fall back to the office desk with a dull thump, his hair splaying out on the dark wood like tendrils of honey, “Tell me what you’re gonna  _ do  _ to me.” On the word, he dug his nails into George’s leather, leaving little crescent-shaped indents as he  _ grinded  _ his clothed cock up against his director’s, so hard and deep that it was painful, humping on him. He could almost orgasm just at the thought of being here, but then George spoke.

“ _ Fire. You.”  _ George barked.

Finally, Alexander knew something was wrong. He stopped all movement. His expression changed, but he still held onto George’s belt, legs wrapped around him because what the hell else was he supposed to do. Was this some kind of joke, or was George trying to be kinky? It didn’t sound like either.

“Sorry, what?” The kid scoffed, and Washington shook his head. Finally, the humping had clapped him violently back into reality, giving him the words this time. 

“If… you…” George growled lowly, pinning Alex down to the table by the waist, “Do not let go of me  _ this. Instant, young man.  _ You are fired, Alexander James Hamilton.” 

The pause between them was one that the whole world could feel in the marrow of their bones. The silence was excruciating in its length with Alexander just… gaping blankly up at his boss. All in an instant, it felt like they were back at the beginning of this meeting all over again, both back into character. The FBI Director and the employee somehow in this… position. It was clear in the rise and fall of both of their chests that only George knew where to go from here. Alexander was the one stuck in shock this time, and by the way redness flushed to his cheeks, it was obvious that he was humiliated. And not in a way that he fancied. 

“I…” The kid shook his head in a ticking motion, brows swooping down to put on a face of incredulous annoyance instead of weakness, but George backed up, breaking away from Alexander’s legs. He released the waist of the younger, leaving his shirt wrinkled and loose, no longer tucked in anymore, so the kid looked like a trainwreck. 

George stepped away, flicking a back of a forearm over his nose in an angry sniff before smoothing down the front of his suit frustratedly. 

“Are you being serious?” Alex inquired in a genuine tone, and when George didn’t respond but to stare at him from afar, the kid still splayed out across his desk, Alex scoffed, “Are you fucking serious right now?”

“I.” George snapped, voice gravelly with seething rage, “Should be the one asking that question to  _ you,  _ Agent Hamilton.” he scoffed, lip curled in utter disgust, “What in  _ God’s name  _ could you possibly think you’re doing? Do you understand what you’ve just done?”

Alex made an incredulous face, setting his feet on the gound to sit up on top of the desk, a wrecked and jumbled mess.    
“Excuse me?” he sneered in disbelief, “I’m so fucking confused right now, man.” 

“You know damn well what I’m talking about.” George snapped right back, maintaining his distance as Alexander just sat up on his desk, looking lost and angry. 

“I could have you fired,  _ arrested,  _ right now for sexual harassment. That kind of conduct is completely intolerable in this federal bureau.” George seemed to lose his steam of classy words by the end and ran a hand through his tangled blonde hair that Alexander had ruined by clawing at it, “How dare you?” was all the Director could say as he stood and stared at Alexadnder. But  _ oh,  _ did the kid have words ready at the go. 

“Hold on one fucking minute, Your Excellency.” he scoffed the last words as if in mockery. He gestured at him violently, “You have been looking at me like every movement I make is a goddamn miracle from Moses for five months, you call me up here at night, and then when I try to get with you, you  _ lead me on,  _ toss me on the desk like  _ you’re  _ the one going crazy to pound me, hold me down, never once tell me that you don’t want this, and then now you’re going to accuse me of shit?”

Alex ran through all of his reasoning until he was thoroughly out of breath, angry as hell. George knew that they had both made mistakes tonight. Alexander had failed to read the signs, but George had not told him “no” once until the very end. 

“I mean what the hell?” Alex spat, looking george up and down, both of them wrecked as he gestured at him, “Why didn’t you say no if you didn’t want it? What kind of person do you think I am; the second you said it I would’ve backed off and apologized for the misunderstanding.” it seemed like Alex was done, but then his face opened up like he’d just remembered something.    


“And speaking of misunderstandings, do you want to explain the way you’ve been looking at me so unprofessionally for the past five months? Because if so, I’d be happy to hear what kind of explanation you have for that one, Mr. Director--”   
“That is enough,  _ boy.”  _ George snarled, cutting off the kids bad attitude. It was his turn to seethe. 

“I have not been looking at you in any other way except for professional, and I. Never. Will.” he enunciated, forming each word clearly and slowly with his lips, he placed his hand on his chair behind him as if for stability, “I admit I should have been clear with my intentions to say no to your actions, Hamilton, but you should know  _ never  _ to engage in such disgusting and unprofessional misdemeanors in this workplace or in this bureau.”

“Oh. Okay.” Alex nodded with pursed lips, mocking, “So you’re saying that if I’d come to your door with flowers and a bowtie you’d’ve let me in?”   
George paused.    
“No.” He answered, and Alexander laughed, rolling his head back. He was clearly getting frustrated, but he wasn’t the one feeling the awkwardness, George was. Alexander was only pissed off. 

“So what is it? George?” he scoffed, placing his palms on the edge of the table and leaning forward in a taunting manner, “What about me is so unfuckable? What’s the big turnoff, hm?” Alex shrugged, frowning incredulously, “Cause I’d sure as hell like to know after I try to seduce my goddamn boss, humiliate myself, and he tosses me off like a used condom.”    
George gaped at Alexander in complete silence. The two just stared at each other, tension high. Alex waited for his answer. 

“Hello?” he sneered, “Can you find anything?”   
“The only thing I’m struggling to find, Hamilton, is where to start.” he spoke, cooler this time, but it was obvious that he was still boiling beneath the surface. He held up his hands to count off on his fingers in jerking motions. 

“For one, you are my employee. Two, if this was to ever get out, both of us would be ruined, and the reputation of the bureau as well. Three, I am more than twice your age, and to add to that, it is not as if you are twenty and I am forty. You are seventeen years old.” George seemed to realize the lunacy of that as he said it, “For you to think I would ever engage in any sort of relationship with someone of that age is utterly disgusting, Alexander. I will never understand how you can think that any part of tonight was acceptable. Your conduct surpasses all lines of 'acceptable'." he spat, looking Alex up and down, "Utterly disgusting." 

“Ah, okay.” Alexander nodded, “shaming me now. That’s fantastic.”

“I am not shaming you; I am telling you the truth of what you’ve done. Attempting to make sexual advances on a man of my age makes me deeply concerned about what you are doing beyond work hours, and I must say, it repulses me.” 

Alex shook his head, lip curled. For a long time, he just stared at George. There was conflict of whether to stay until they were on better terms or to get the fuck out of there as soon as he possibly could to avoid this shitshow of mortification. He was humiliated deep down, and he was doing his best not to let it show. How could he have been so blind to George’s intentions. What… were George’s intentions? 

Alex’s only failsafe was to read the face of his boss and see what he could find as he sat there, tie loose, shirt untucked, jacket long discarded on his chair. His heart pumped in his chest as he desperately read George’s expressions, taking in all of the body language that he could, sifting through his boss’s thoughts like they were his own. By the time George realized what Alexander was doing… the boy’s brows had furrowed down slowly but surely over his eyes. His lips parted. 

His face opened up at the discovery he had just made inside of George's eyes.

What...

“You’re lying.” he spoke airily, not like a question but not like a statement either, more like a shocked observation. George blinked, putting on a defensive guise like he was tired of Alex’s ridiculous charades.    
“Alexander, just go home.” he shook his head, trying to curtail this. 

Because he could feel that Alexander was getting closer to the forbidden truth, the secret Washington held. 

“This was a misunderstanding. If I ever catch word of this happening again, you are out of this bureau for good.”

“No.” Alexander cut in, still with that nearly shocked, almost scared look on his face. It was scaring George, he noticed, as his heart rate slowly began to thump… thump in his chest. 

“You’re lying about why you don’t want to fuck around with me.”

George scoffed, immediately making Alexander seem like the ridiculous one, “I’ve made it very clear why I do not wish to engage in any activity short of professional with you, Hamilton.”

“And they’re true. They're all true.” Alexander spoke mystically, his hazel eyes still darting all over Washingotns’ face. George felt like he was under a microscope. Here, in HIS own office, he felt like he was hooked up to an immaculate lie detector, just waiting to sift out his faults and white lies.

“But you're holding back an important one.” Alex shook his head in a twitching motion, lost, “Why would you do that?” he asked almost to himself. He waited for George to react, and the man didn’t shift his weight as a lot of people did when they were lying, even slightly just to make it seem like they were sick of the conversation. But Georg adjusted his grip on the back of the chair, and something in his eyes shifted out of place. Alex’s brows twitched down further. George wasn’t just holding back another reason why he wanted nothing to do with Alex. He was holding back...

“The most important one.” Alex basically whispered, and at that point, George was finished. He was done.

“That’s quite enough, Agent Hamilton.” he snapped tersely, finally moving as he took a lumbering step around his desk towards where Alex’s chair was. His soles slapped on the ground as he walked briskly, 

“A lesson to you. Nobody should need to give  _ any  _ reason, not even one if they are uncomfortable in a situation. Be grateful for the reasoning I gave you, because I did not need to give any.” he spoke eloquently, but his voice was uptight as he reached down into the seat where Alex had been sitting before this whole disaster had started, grabbing the kid’s suit jacket out of the crack where it had wedged itself with a rustling sound. Alex craned over his shoulder, desperately trying to calculate what he could, but George wasn’t planning on stopping. He hadn’t lied when he said he’d had enough. 

“I apologize for being unclear with my desires, and you should be ashamed of your conduct. Enough said.” George concluded his thesis, holding Alexander’s jacket as he straightened himself to his familiar stoic posture of superiority. 

“Now I kindly ask you to leave my office. We will never speak a word of this again, and the next time I see you, you will have thought over your actions and treat me as your Director, do I make myself clear, Mr. Hamilton?”

Alexander stepped down from the desk with screwed up lips, rounding the corner to step right up to Washington, unafraid as usual.    
“What did you even call me up here for?” 

“You will find out when Agent Jefferson does in our meeting tomorrow. You clearly cannot be trusted without that man at your side.”   
Alexander paused, gaping up at George in offense. To be torn of his solidarity, to be ripped of his maturity… It was the greatest offense. But could George be blamed for saying that?

“Thomas isn’t my father.” Alexander snarled under his breath. A whisper. And upon those words, something behind George’s eyes flickered. Something dark. 

“No.” George admitted, but his voice was dry as he stiffly handed Alexander his jacket, pushing it into him, “Apologies.” was his only measly attempt at an apology for that statement, but it was clearly time for this nightmare to end. George’s icy blue eyes radiated coolness like windows to the deepest reaches of the arctic sea as he stared at Alex. 

“Never will we speak of this again. Tonight did not happen.” he established in a low tone, “Now leave.” he was as blunt as Thomas Jefferson in his words, and Alex could only stare up at him with parted lips. He was humiliated. He was  _ furious  _ at being treated in this way, but he knew that George was furious for being treated in the way Alex had treated him as well. Alexander hated that they were even. 

The kid shook his head with a throaty scoff, not even looking at George as he snatched his jacket from the man’s large hands, jerking it towards himself. 

Alexander wanted to mumble something under his breath, but he was too smart for that. His entire body burned as he walked away, seething, his blood boiling beneath his skin. Never in his life had he been rejected. And never had he been more mortified. As he walked away across the wrecked office, pens and ink shattered on the floor, papers strewn from when George had thrown him down, he didn’t even notice when he stepped right on top of a stray piece of paper as he left, staining it with a spotty black shoe-print of ink. 

It read, “RANDOLPH H. EMERSON, AGE 18. RECRUITMENT APPROVED: HERCULES MULLIGAN 7/20/2065”. 

As Alex fumed, walking away, he knew that he was correct, and he hated that he was at too much of a disadvantage after his behavior to have the right to ask what George was holding back. 

Because he was. 

Alexander was absolutely sure of it that George wasn’t telling him something--and not only that, something important. 

Something.... Dark. 

George Washington had a secret. But then again, didn’t everyone? Alex contemplated it as he walked away, slinking back into the night from whence he came. What secret could George Washington possibly have?

* * *

The silence of the apartment was broken by a sharp jangle of keys and the clack of the handle being pulled, the door swinging inwards as the two boys filed in. Of course, a barrage of noise inevitably followed. Thomas was stacked down with books, but he had this weird thing about having to enter the house first no matter the circumstances, so he was the one struggling with both the key and all the baggage that Alexander refused to hold, claiming his ass hurt too much for his arms to be doing any work today. Bull. Shit.

“So.” Alex sighed, following Thomas in as the man tucked the keys into his back pocket with some difficulty, bending over the weight, “what’s it gonna be? Food, sleep, or sex. Choose wisely.” 

Thomas kicked the door open with his heel so that Alex could pass through, stepping into his familiar apartment towards the kitchen island to dump all the shit he was carrying. It didn’t help that the corner of one of the cryptology books was digging into the soft space in the crook of his elbow. 

“I love how ‘work’ wasn’t even an option.” Thomas grunted, strained as he stepped up to the counter, pushing aside a chair so he could get up in there and drop all of the baggage with a smack of hard-cover on the granite countertop. He puffed an exhausted sigh. 

“Okay.” was Alex’s only response, “We just worked for, like, three hours.”    
There was a deep sigh, “People are dying out there, Alexander.” Thomas drawled dryly, shrugging his suit jacket down his arms as he passed the boy, scenting his lavender cologne once again. Alex just raised his head to watch Thomas pass into the kitchen area, loosening his tie as he did so. 

“Indeed. And others are hungry, tired, and horny.” 

“And I assume you mean yourself.” Thomas spat. Typical Alex.   
“Of course.”   
“Despicable.”   
“Thank you.”

There was a bit of a pause as Thomas undid his tie, slinging it around his shoulders--still tucked under his collar--but now he was more relaxed.   
“You’re hungry?” Thomas questioned his partner, who seemed to just be observing him like a spectator at a zoo. 

“Yeah.” Alex responded with a smile, showing his perfect teeth that had taken years to get that way, but now that they were… Damn. He placed his foot up on the metal rung beneath one of the stools at the island counter and swung up into it, wiggling his ass down to get comfortable as he began to shimmy off his jacket as well, glad to be getting rid of it because he was more than ready to dive back into Thomas’s sweatshirt and call it a night. 

“Lasagna sounds nice right about now.” Alexander noted spoiledly, watching the back of Thomas as his shirt wrinkled, the man reaching above his head to pull open the water-glass cabinet.

“Well, didn’t exactly make the proper provisions; you should’ve asked when I was grocery shopping. Or hell, you could’ve, gone yourself at some point in the week you’ve been living here.” Thomas responded, flashing a glance over his shoulder as he lifted down two glasses, the sides of them clinking together as he held them between two fingers. Alex just leaned his elbows down onto the table after scooting aside the book stack, folding his arms so that he was in a relaxed position.

“Well. Get on it, then.” he spoke obviously, a little confused by why Thomas was being so hesitant. Only the Virginian understood why Alexander was so insensitive about other people’s time. People usually bowed to his commands, and it was hard for him to understand--even now--that Thomas wasn’t one of those people. Thomas rolled his eyes and inhaled as he pressed the button for crushed ice on the fridge and put his glass beneath it, the grinding, crunching sound loud in their ears. When it was finally over, he went back to the water setting and let the bubbles flow as the stream of liquid hissed down into the cup. Ice cubes crackled and popped.

“I’m not your personal chef, Alexander.” he dictated, switching out the glasses to fill up his own, cold against the palms of his hands now with the ice.    
“Well.” the kid laughed, looking down at his wrist as he toyed with the button at the cuff, “Kinda.”

Thomas pulled away from the fridge, turning back to Alex and approaching the island.    
“No. I’m not. If you wanna make lasagna, you go out and get the stuff, and I’ll help you make it, until then, there’s food here. And don’t be an ungrateful little shit.” he warned, placing down the glass of water in front of his partner. He set it down with a clink, and for a moment, Alexander just stared at it. One of the ice cubes cracked, floating up to the top. 

“What’s this?” the kid finally sneered, still eyeing it like it was mildly distasteful.

“That would be water, Allie.” Thomas spoke in a high pitched, airy voice he would use talking to a toddler, nodding condescendingly as he did so, “This is the wet stuff that falls from the sky and makes sure everything can live. Crops grow. Rivers flow. From mountains high to valleys low.” 

“Never heard of it.” Alex pulled the glass towards himself with a sarcastic glance up to Thomas, still disappointed because he’d wanted red gatorade and an entire pan of lasagna to himself. He’d had his own personal chef when he was seventeen and living in HQ, and he’d had one up in his house in the Hamptons that specialized in the local cuisine of the area, but either way he’d always settled on something basic no matter how he tried: junk snacks and crappy comfort food. He could have gourmet mac n’ cheese, but in the end, he was still eating mac n’ cheese. He just liked that sort of thing… perhaps things like those never truly rubbed off from one’s childhood. 

Thomas raised a brow at Alexander, making sure he had the glass to his lips before he pushed off the counter and turned away, leaving his own glass there as well. Alex was about to mention that Thomas was oddly monitorial of Alexander’s hydration status, but the man spoke before he could. 

“If you’re hungry, I’ll make you some fruit.” he opened the fridge that he was already facing, squatting down to see what was in the bottom drawer. Alex just snorted into the glass, fogging it, and licked his lips so that he could open his mouth and speak.

“Don’t split your pants, Mom. I don’t want any of your fruit.”

“You know, your nutrition is an abomination to nature, Alexander.” Thomas grumbled, standing back up so that he was taller once again. He peered over the kitchen at Alex, sipping again at his water like he was getting used to it, “Our ancestors ate nothing but gathered nuts and fruit, not the processed horse-shit you put in your mouth on a daily.” he scoffed in disgust.

“Yeah, and lived till the ripe age of childbirth.” Alexander sneered quietly, but Thomas was onto him.   
“Wanna say that again, I didn’t hear you.”

Alex set his glass down, his ring clinking against it as he tapped once and tilted his head, resting it on his shoulder.    
“I said ‘of course, sweetums. If you wanna put on your loincloth and go frolicking through the forest, you go right ahead. I’ll film’.” he smiled sweetly and batted his eyelashes to which he received a deep inhale and a quick, candid rubbing of Thomas’s thumb briefly over his sinuses like he was trying to prove to himself that it wasn’t worth it to reach across the table like elastigirl and smack the sense arrogance directly out of Alexander’s body by means of force. 

For a few seconds Alex just sipped while Thomas pulled out his own leftovers from lunch because he actually didn’t eat everything in one sitting. The kid spoke before he was even done drinking.

“And how in fuck’s name do you ‘make’ fruit? What’re you gonna do, country boy? Get in your overalls and sow the fields for me?” He said the address in a southern accent to mock Thomas, who just glanced over his shoulder in mild annoyance as he pushed something into the toaster oven.

“No, Alexander, I’ll just conjure it from the ether like God--I’d cut it up, on a cutting board, you cow.” Thomas gestured with his butterknife to the cutting board beside him, and this time, Alexander did that laugh that Thomas had heard this morning before the mission. The genuine one that was more airy than the fake one he always tried when he was being manipulative.

“Cow.” Alex cackled his true laugh, and Thomas couldn’t help himself. There was almost this… omnipotent hand of force that  _ made  _ him need to turn around and look at it--watch it happen. He only glanced over his shoulder to see Alex’s smile, and it was the same one he did when he was wearing braces or when they had headed out this morning on their first mission, wind buffeting and whipping Alexander’s hair as he turned his face to the sky for the first… time. The first time since the world had put him away. Since…  _ Thomas  _ had put him away, the Virginian thought with a tinge of something in his gut. He swallowed something that tasted bitter in the back of his throat.

It was all of his teeth; it was a smile in his eyes too. Thomas tightened his jaw and looked away, but not before feeling that queasy sort of warmth in his chest--that odd tug.

“This is coming from the guy whose car  _ sinks  _ an inch when he gets in, you’re aware?” the kid questioned elegantly, but Thomas pushed the silverware drawer back in with his hip, metal tinkling inside.   
“Watch it, wise-aleck.” Thomas clipped back as Alex tilted the cup up and finished off the water. The ice clattered and fell against his face, stunning him, but Thomas went on.

“I’m a full-grown six-foot-five, adult male with over two hundred pounds of--”   
“Dick.”   
“ _ Body. Weight.”  _ Thomas cut Alex off through a clenched jaw, correcting him. Alexander snickered, swiping his cup off the counter and hopping down from the stool as he loosened his tie awkwardly with one hand. He worked his little fingers in the fabric as he rounded the kitchen island, making his way towards the dishwasher whilst Thomas extracted a tupperware of cantaloupe from the fridge for Alex even though he didn’t want it. He was still waiting for his food to be done in the toaster oven, and the place was starting to smell like the warmth of good-quality bread as it ticked away.

“Okay fatso.” Alex snorted, “One day we’re gonna get in the Nightcrawler and just hear ‘ _ screeeeeEEE’  _ cause you’re so heavy the fucking car’ll scrape the road.” Alex laughed breathlessly, crossing behind Thomas in the kitchen, the taller not even sparing a glance, head still in the fridge once again like he was looking for something else that wasn’t there. 

“Mm. And one day I’m gonna sit on your head, and  _ I _ won’t hear anything because you’ll fucking die.” Thomas grunted, and Alex pulled down the dishwasher, always hating the way dishwashers smelled even at the cleanest of times. 

“Wow. What a way to go.” he sighed, shaking his head as if in mourning, “Lethal face-sitting.” 

“Just shut the hell--” Thomas almost dropped the container--slippery with condensation, “your mouth.” he finished, barely managing to balance it on his elbow and readjust as he swung closed the door of the fridge with a tiny gust of cold and humid air onto his face. Alex had dumped his ice in the sink drain and slid out the top tier of the dishwasher to place his cup. 

“Ha. ‘Shut the hell your mouth’.” Alex barked a high-pitched laugh, “I’m getting a weirdly good amount of good Thomas quotes today. Who’s the meth-head who writes your material?” 

“Nobody.” Thomas growled through gritted teeth, placing the Tupperware down onto the counter, grabbing the frosty-cold cup from Alex’s hand and shoving in the top tier with the side of the glass. Alex shrugged, watching as Thomas used his foot to pull open the bottom one instead, obviously having a system with how he put things in the dishwasher. 

“Really?” Alexander smirked, crossing his arms over his chest, tie loose down between his ribs, “There isn’t some try-hard who hands you your script every morning?”

“Shut the hell your mouth.” was Thomas’s only response as Alex crossed behind him, still unable to hold back his smile as he stepped across the kitchen. Something about this little exchange… it was so weirdly familiar. It _wasn’t_ the constant back and forth of a battle of wits, a battle of mind games--predator and prey. It was a flowing of wits in another, innocent fashion. It was so  _ them,  _ and Alex could feel it. He could feel the way things used to be when it was him and Thomas arguing, bickering, and bantering over anything and everything in this very same room one long year ago. It was like he’d never left, and it felt… so  _ free.  _ It felt like there wasn’t a dark-haired, dark-eyed teenager watching them from the corner, looming on top of the cabinets. 

There wasn’t an essence of Randolph in this conversation, not even his ghost that seemed to haunt each step that Thomas and Alexander took, walking side-by-side with the forgotten trio even beyond the grave. 

Alex bit his grinning bottom lip, feeling the warmth well up as he forced it back down to retain his cocky composure, but there was no doubt that it was there. Thomas bent over to place the cup down on the bottom of the dishwasher on one of the spokes as Alexander passed behind him, eyes still on Thomas as he moved. 

But… something caught his eye before he could walk out of the kitchen. It was small, barely noticeable, but Alexander was never one to miss details. As Thomas bent over the dishwasher and his white shirt stretched over his back, there was…

Alex’s lips parted, suddenly weirdly dry. He could taste the dryness. And he stopped behind Thomas, taking a step to backtrack as his brows knitted slowly together. He… squinted. At the webbing of red streaks he could faintly see, blurred and shrouded by the white material. His mouth opened, words forming almost immediately, but they came out slow. 

There were tiny pinpricks of blood staining his white clothing.

“Thomas, what’s under your shirt?” he spoke, and the taller snorted. He was still in his gruff and joking mood that he was naturally in around Alexander. 

“Nothing you haven’t seen today. So be grateful.” he scoffed, standing up straight as he turned his body to look at his partner. As soon as he saw the look on his face, his own smile immediately fell. Slackened into a straight expression. Alex’s face was--how could he put this?--open. For a fraction of a second, the deceptive veil he always wore like an eternal bride was lifted. Thomas would’ve been able to find words if he didn’t feel like he was looking at someone that wasn’t Alex.

“Something the matter?” was all he could think to say, blinking, but Alex had this weird look on his face. And then it was gone. The kid was trying to contain it as he lifted his chin in that lofty manner, just a fraction of an inch, covering it up, wrapping it away.

“Through your shirt, I saw something on your back. Like. blood.” he restated in a commanding tone, which only had its natural effect on Thomas. His face immediately turned from blank to defensive in a heartbeat. 

“It’s nothing, Allie.” he  _ clearly  _ stated, the warning painfully obvious in his voice. It was Alexander’s warning to stand down, and quickly, and it was blatantly apparent. Alex was never one to follow orders. He was never one to follow instead of lead, and right now, this was something that he was going to lead on. 

This was something he couldn’t help but lead on, especially when Thomas had become aggressive so fucking  _ quickly.  _ There was usually some kind of… buildup to their fights, but this… 

This was happening now. 

“Well, shit, Thomas. Alright.” he nodded, bobbing his head, “Just making sure we’re clear: everything I do is your business. My friends. My room.” he shrugged, “But you’re in the clear, right?”

Thomas tossed the tupperware down onto the table with a clatter, abandoning it. He… did  _ not  _ like Alexander’s tone, and he was about to make that very obvious. 

“Hey.” he clipped, lowering his darkening gaze so that is was a dangerous warning, “ _ I  _ said it was nothing. That means shut your mouth--I dunno why you’re making such a big deal out of this. Lay off it.”   
“Lay off it.” Alex repeated, placing a hand behind him on the island counter, leaning back into it, he cocked his head at his partner, “So if I was bleeding through my shirt, you’d say the same thing? Who are you shitting, Jefferson? Cause it’s not me.” he scoffed, obviously making the points he knew were lethal. 

“What’s the blood, Thomas?” he stated more than asked, and a darkness passed behind his eyes. It didn’t scare Thomas. 

“The rules that apply to you don’t apply to me, kid. You gave up the right to privacy in my damn house.”   
“Oh no, of course. You’re off the hook.” Alex scoffed immediately, pushing off the counter with the palm that was gripping the cool edge, tie still hanging loosely at his chest. He gestured grandly with his hands at Thomas.

“Our holy savior Thomas Jefferson Christ.” he pursed his lips, cocking his head, “Even his body is off-limits to his own human-sex-toy. I absolutely understand, my  _ lord _ .” he snorted grandly, “Sorry I asked. ” Alex sneered. 

“What are you even talking about?" Thomas laughed incredulously, "You wanna do this now?”

“Fucking hypocrite…” Alex added under his breath, making to turn away and give it up but  _ oh  _ did Thomas hear him.

“ _ What was that?” _ he yelled this time, lengthening his spine so that the size difference was only exemplified. How had things turned so quickly… How had Alexander pushed it over the edge from bliss to hell in a matter of seconds.

“You heard me, shitwit.” Alex snarled, but Thomas interrupted the end of his sentence.

“Oh, shut  _ up.”  _ Thomas made the sour, exhausted face of unrighteous incredulity. He scoffed, “Whaddya want, Allie, is this some kind of game?” he attempted, blinking, “Cause I’m at a loss man, and I’m done with it.” he shook his head and opened his palms, opened his arms,

“Just tell me what you want. Whaddya want, Allie, you can have it. Don’t pull me into your sick shit; I don’t want any more of it-” he let them smack back down to his sides, giving up on the frustrated sentence, but Alexander just made an indignant face.

“Excuse me?” he took a step forward, and Thomas took one back in perfect synchronization, maintaining the exact amount of distance that was between them. And in no way did he turn his back towards Alex. 

The shorter stopped when Thomas had moved away from him. Moved away as if… Not afraid, not disgusted, but something in between?

“Alright, Alex, Do I look  _ incompetent  _ to you?” Thomas snarled viciously, a bite in his voice that stung Alex’s heart. For some reason, he felt the sting a little deeper than he would with any other words. Nevertheless, he retained his aggressive stance.

“Yeah, you know, Thomas, you do.” Alexander affirmed, which only ignited Thomas more, “What’s your problem with me? Why can’t I even ask if you’re okay?” Thomas ignored a hint of something in Alexander’s voice that could safely be called the truth.

“This isn’t about anything you saw through my goddamn…  _ shirt.  _ I don’t know what shit you’re trying to pull, but I swear to fucking God, you had  _ better back off _ , Alexander.” Thomas used his full name this time, and his tone was sharper than steel, colder than marble. It bit Alex, scalded him raw, but the kid was no stranger to sharp fangs and open flame.

“You think,” Alex actually barked a laugh, chest rising and falling as he spoke, smiling like a lunatic, “You think what? That I’m playing games with you?” he laughed again, face falling right back into serious when he was done, “Thomas, I wanna know why it looks like a bear mauled your back. I wanna know what's going on.” he defended, voice rising with each word until it was a yell, and Thomas’s reaction…

It was fierce.

“There’s nothing on my back.” he yelled to match, booming in Alex’s ears. Thomas opened his hands, shaking them slightly to show his frustration.

“I don’t know why the hell we’re having this conversation.”

Alex was done. He was done being pushed around.

“Then turn around.” he made a move for Thomas this time, and the man slid out of the way, palms brushing the counter so that he could maneuver agilely around Alex, barely squeezing around him. 

“Wh--” he sputtered, stepping away quickly before he turned his shocked face on him, “the  _ fuck  _ is your problem, man?” Thomas spat loudly, stopping a couple of feet away from him, “Are you delusional?” 

“Thomas.” Alex said again, a higher tone in his voice--raised, “Don’t treat me like a child, asshole; I’m more of an adult than you’ll ever be, you petty piece of shit.” he snarled, “I’m well aware you don’t think I’m entitled to squat-shit, but you can patronize me all you want--I’m not going anywhere until I get my answer.” 

Now it was his turn to contribute to the defensive aggression. This conversation had turned so rapidly from something innocent to something ugly… Bloomed like a cherry blossom and frosted, withered away in but a moment. Without even thinking about it… they both felt the tension rise once again, Alex taking on his ever-effective tactics of interrogation, manipulative mind tricks and Thomas adopting his iron, defensive walls of bulletproof titanium. Neither really recognized that they had both begun to move, slowly, steadily, maintaining the distance as they circled. 

It was indistinguishable which one was predator and which was prey. 

“I’ll ask you one more time, man. I suggest this is the time you answer.” Alex was… clearly done playing around, “What’s on your back?” Alex repeated, his voice terse, jaw tense as he stepped silently over his foot, moving counterclockwise with Thomas, who towered over the dynamic. Alex could hear the fabric rustle. Smell Thomas’s cologne, feel his heat. His eyes flickered to the man’s fingers that twitched once at his side, hanging loosely. They weren’t in his pockets, they were free, and Alex’s glance shot right back up to his face, reading it like the pages of the books everyone around him was able to scan effortlessly and comprehend. 

There was tightness around his dark brow, casting shade over his utterly black pupils and irises. In the light, it was hard for Alex to tell whether they were dilated in a fight reaction, or if not, but the rest of his face said it all. The tension in his neck and the lack thereof in his lips and cheekbones, showing that he knew he had been caught. Thomas twitched his lips, and it was the final sign for Alex. The kid cocked his head to the side for one second, shrugging.    
“Don’t answer.” Alex’s voice was cool, but there was a snarl waiting behind it to break free, “That pathetic look on your face does a good enough job itself.” 

The older shook his head darkly, signalling that he was going to do something if Alex kept pressing him. 

“Don’t push me, Hamilton. Don’t.” Thomas’s voice was sincere. Almost a… dark beg. He would. He would fight Alex. Right here, over something this stupid. Over something this…  _ ridiculous.  _

The two circled like animals in the open space of the kitchen. Their shoes made no sound on the floor--they were agents after all. The circling was so utterly slow, it was hardly noticeable, but it was happening. And it was accelerating the tension until it was stifling, so close to the breaking point. It would only take a little push. 

Alex curled his lip, removing his hands from his pockets to let them fall to his sides. He could see Thomas eyeing that movement. 

“Don’t call me Hamilton.” he snarled, and Thomas was more than ready to tear back into him with retorts. He could feel that uncontrollable temper in him rising. Rising at that look in Alex’s eyes, the frustrated anger that they shared, spilling gasoline onto each other’s fires. 

“I’ll call you whatever the fuck I want to call you, conniving little bitch.” Thomas yelled this time, and both of them stopped. His voice echoed once in the open-plan apartment. Alex’s shoulders rose and fell, rose and fell. Thomas’s chest did too. They just stared at each other and breathed. 

“If. You’re. Hurt.” Alex clipped, never once parting his teeth from each other. His voice was so,  _ so  _ dangerously quiet, “I will find out.

“Good thing I’m not. Isn’t it.” Thomas lied. He knew full well what was on his back. The long trails of open cuts that had stopped bleeding after some open air and time to clot. He knew they were there, he could feel them sting as he breathed and it rubbed against his shirt, chafing on the wounds. It was beyond sexual at this point. They were too deep and serious to be sexy. Alex had unwittingly gone too far.

It was hard to say why he didn’t want Alex to see. Alex had created them. Alex was the reason for the sting. Thomas  _ should  _ want him to look at it--see what he had created--and go silent. Show Alexander the monster that everyone saw him as. And yet here he was. Baring his teeth to keep the damage Alex had done hidden. 

Why? 

The silence that ensued was quieter than death. Quieter than the silence beneath six feet of earth and soil where a forever sleeping teenager lay, smirk still playing lightly on his lips. Something on Alex’s face finally changed. It was how it had been at the start of this conversation before Thomas had forced the aggression on him. It opened. His shield became transparent for his words to pass through. 

“What do you have to hide, Thomas?” Alex whispered, shaking his head, “What haven’t I seen?”   
Alex made a point. They could both feel it, but only Thomas knew the answer. The older shook his head. He couldn’t handle the silence. 

“I’m not showing you. So drop it…  _ now _ .” he whispered just the same, but Alex’s face showed no mercy, no leeway. The Harlemite lifted his chin, and only Thomas could see the bitterness behind those hazel-brown eyes. The loathing. 

“No.” was his single-worded response. The silence that followed was so… so quiet. It held only one echoing word, but  _ so  _ much more within it. The meaning behind their silence was unmistakable.    
“Turn your back to me, Thomas.” he commanded. There was a pause, and the kid flicked a brow, “Wouldn’t be the first time.” 

Thomas’s breath was stolen from his chest at the words. It was ripped from him, but all he could do was stand in stark silence as if he was naked, freezing, torn from any protection. The words echoed in his skull, bouncing in his head as clear as any day. 

_ “Turn your back on me, Thomas. Wouldn’t be the first time.”  _

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” Thomas snarled under his breath, a whisper to match his partner’s, but Alex was already squinting at him, biting the inside of his left cheek.

“You wouldn’t be asking if you didn’t already know.” was Alex’s backwards response, and Thomas shouldn’t’ve expected anything more. He shouldn’t have expected anything that wasn’t a riddle. 

Without his consent, Thomas remembered that night. If flashed before his mind in tiny clips from time to time, but he saw it now. And he wasn't prepared for it.

The blinding flashing of the ambulance in the night. Stinging his eyes. The forced oxygen mask over his face. The bullethole gaping in his shoulder. It wasn’t his own self that flashed before him now, however. It was Alexander. 

A clang of double doors banging on their hinges of a black sedan. A man--no. A  _ child  _ screaming words that seemed like nobody could hear as his hips thrusted forward, the only part of him that could move with both arms restrained by a crowd of people Thomas couldn’t see through. But he could hear Alex. Thomas could remember his head falling to the side like a vivid dream--someone talking to him, raised voice. Echoes. Watching. All he could remember was the gouges that his partner’s heels had made in the dirt. Gouges in the dirt. He couldn’t see Alex until the end. All he remembered was the gashes he had gouged into the earth.

And he snapped right back to this moment looking at him. That was one year ago, and now they were back. 

Mind numb, Thomas knew what he was about to do. He understood his actions. He didn’t want to, and he didn’t know why he didn’t want to watch Alex see it, but he did it anyway. Alexander wanted to see--so be it.

The two stood in silence as Thomas retained a straight face. No expression. Blank, as he lifted his fingers, carefully pulling his tie out through his collar like a silken snake. The hint of surprise that flickered across Alexander’s face passed quickly. Was he expecting Thomas to cave?

He felt his tie slither along the back of his neck before he quietly placed it down on the coolness of the counter, not even pausing before his fingers were back up at his collar, unbuttoning the expensive shirt button-by-button. He popped them out swiftly one at a time, the cold air kissing his chest as he revealed his pecs, the curves of his abdominal muscles whilst the cloth fell away, fell off of him. 

And Alexander just watched. His light, hazel eyes darted, monitoring each of Thomas’s emotionless movements as he undid his shirt. But there wasn’t a hint of haughty arrogance upon his face at his apparent victory. The cockiness was gone. The sly self-righteousness had vanished as he just… watched Thomas grapple and rustle at his shirt, untucking it from under his belt in handfuls of fabric, stretching it. There was a flash of lower-abs, of the deeply rutted V-line as Thomas lifted his shirt and turned around shrugging it off of his frame. He pulled it down his arms with a bit of struggle and shaking to get it off.    
As the muscles on Thomas’s back rolled and rippled with every movement, the man balling up the shirt in front of him, Alexander’s lips parted.

“Shit…” he couldn’t hold back the word that escaped quietly from his lips, pupils dilating at the sight. His throat bounced, and his stomach lurched. 

Starting at the small of Thomas’s back, he slowly…. Warily worked his way up, staring at… this. Thomas’s tan skin was a canvas, and it was quite apparent that Alexander’s claws had been the paintbrushes… over and over again. Nevertheless, his lips, parted, and he blinked, stepping forward as if in a trance. 

“Did,” he started, but he had to try again when some sort of blockage stopped him, “What--was this me?” he managed to finally get out, eyes wide. He couldn’t describe that constricted feeling, like his innards were tied into tight gnarls in his gut. His heart couldn’t cease the pounding as his hazel irises darted up and down the criss crossing crimson that looked like something out of a nightmare.

Some of them were deep red and irritated scrapes, but for most--in the middle of the cuts near Thomas’s spine--they had broken the skin and ripped through, breaking several layers to draw blood. Especially up near Thomas’s neck and upper back, the streaks of claw-marks were all bleeding and dark--all of them. Most had started to form scabs, but some were still open to the air--the ones that had left the tiny pearls of blood on Thomas’s shirt.

And there was one. One deep one  _ right  _ across the back of his neck diagonally. 

Almost like a curse, Alex felt the scar on the back of his own neck twinge. 

And something clicked in his mind. 

Thomas peeked once over his shoulder to see Alex staring, unblinking at what he had forced him to show. Allie still had his arms crossed over his chest, but he was just… looking. Quiet. Thomas licked his lip quickly.    
“Yeah. It was you, Allie.” Thomas admitted slowly in defeat, and Alex kept scanning, eyes moving almost too rapidly as if he couldn’t stay still. The kid opened his mouth, lips trying to form words.    
“From when we were--”   
“Yes. Earlier.” Thomas answered in a hushed tone, closing his eyes on the response. He looked straight forward once again, letting Alex take his time. Thomas just stared at the staircase that led up to Alex’s room, the open door to the den beneath them, and he waited, focusing on a random point.

All of the tools, all of the machinery, computers, and probes Alex had experienced in his mind when he was trapped in that wretched asylum couldn’t even define the thoughts racing through his mind like the chaos of a hurricane’s torrents.

Shouldn’t he think of what he had done as something sexual? 

He swallowed, still drawing closer. He could see Thomas clearly breathing, the shoulders and back rising and falling, skin stretching around the wounds. Shouldn’t the sigh of blood ignite Alexander like a hound, the sight of his wrath on Thomas’s skin? Shouldn’t he smell the metallic odor and curl his lips into a smirk at the sight of the pleasure that had inflicted such ruin onto his partner? It should be sexy.

Alex knew he had been here before. When he was younger, he did this sometimes to John, but only occasionally when he got really into it and just lost control of himself--which wasn’t often with someone as vanilla as Mr. Laurens. However, when it  _ had  _ happened, it had always been something that ignited him like a shark sniffing a hint of blood in the water. He would gaze upon it and want more, want that pain on  _ him _ , wanted to relish in the fact that his pleasure had happened at someone else’s expense. 

Now, looking at the mauled, shredded back of Thomas Jefferson, it wasn’t there. It was gone.

And for the first time in Alex’s life, he didn’t know why. For the first time, he looked at the bleeding cuts he had unwittingly inflicted, blinded by his own enjoyment, and he felt ugly. He didn’t feel like something to be revered or desired. 

He felt like a monster. 

For one moment, seeing the pain he had caused, he caught a glimpse through the eyes of everyone around him. He caught a glimpse of how they see the world. And he saw how they saw the boy from Harlem. Crazy.

Thomas’s brows furrowed down at the silence, and he almost looked over his shoulder before stopping himself. He did it anyway, just a peek as if he was invading Alex's privacy.   
“Alexander?” he grumbled carefully, brows still down, and when he finally fully turned his face, he only caught a glimpse of a movement. Alex had extended his hand, fingertips nearly touching Thomas’s back before they curled back towards his palm, slowly recoiling. Alex swallowed, eyes still on the damage as he lowered his hand, tapping his fingers against his leg. 

“Great.” the kid sniffed, not a wisp of emotion in his voice, he removed his eyes, looking at some unidentifiable place on the tiles of the kitchen floor, “Well have fun letting that heal. Hope you put some antiseptics on that or whatever.” he grumbled, tucking his hands into the pockets of his dress pants and nodding, more to himself than to anyone else. 

Thomas picked up this weird vibe. But he wasn’t like Alex, he couldn’t read minds or expressions. He was lost.  The man knitted his brows together as he turned around, still balling up his shirt between his hands. He shook his head, completely at a loss. 

“I’m sorry, are you mad at me or something?” he scoffed a bit of a laugh, and Alex didn’t react well to that kind of arrogance. The kid only rolled his eyes and tried to walk by Thomas, but the older placed his shirt down on the table, his arm blocking Alexander’s path out. That did the trick on the younger. 

His eyes snapped up, and the darkness… the hatred brewing behind them, roiling was ruthless. There was so much anguished loathing. 

“You…” he whispered quietly, seething breaths quietly exiting his body, “Move…” he commanded in the lowest tone imaginable, but Thomas wasn’t having it. 

“Stop it. You think you’re scary, Allie, but you don’t scare me anymore. I’m over bad dreams.” Thomas scoffed, “So try me.” 

The moment of silence was stretched to an eternity, the dominant, brute power of Thomas towering over the dark insanity of his partner. 

“I can stand here all day.” Thomas shrugged, “Your decision. Tell me why you’re pissed, and I’ll let you go hate me in peace.”

“Jefferson…” Alexander’s voice was a warning. And it was  _ clear.  _ Anyone else could tell that Alex was reaching the end of his control. He was reaching the end of his patience that normally had a very fine line between cool and insane. The emotion built up in his chest, and he didn’t know what to… do with it. He didn’t know where to put it, and there was so much of it at the same time. Thomas shrugged completely indifferently. 

“All day, Alexander. This bother you?” he motioned with his eyes to his back where some of the cuts curved around towards his ribs, the tips visible, “What you did?” he laughed, smiling to show his canines, “What, Allie, I thought you liked blood?” he scoffed, mocking him, 

“I thought you liked pain.” Alex’s breath got heavier and heavier with each of Thomas’s words, the pent up voices in his head screaming at him. He could hear the voices, all telling him to do different things. Run upstairs. Shove Thomas. Punch him in the throat. 

“When did that change?” Thomas sneered, looking down on him, and Alex snapped. Alex caved just as he did when Thomas had questioned him about his illiteracy. 

_ “When it became you, goddamnit!”  _ Alex yelled and jerked to hit Thomas across the chest with one flinging hand, drowning out the taller one, who flinched. It was much harder and more violent than a slap, more cathartic, but it wasn't a punch. Thomas didn’t remember when he dropped his shirt onto the counter, but now his hand was pressed flat against the granite. His mouth was slightly open, and he was breathing through it now. 

Two hearts pounded painfully in that kitchen. Alexander yanked his other hand out of his pockets, pointed aggressively up at Thomas. 

“Get off my ass, Thomas. Get off my fucking ass.” he growled, stepping forward, head down, as he shoved Thomas with his shoulder while he passed. 

“No.” Thomas commanded, but Alex didn’t even turn his head to look at him. The older man’s eyes darkened, something furious pulling at his heart.   
“I said,  _ no,  _ you little shit.” Thomas whirled around and grabbed Alexander by the shoulders, digging his nails into the white cloth of his shirt and bunching it up into fists. Alex growled, trying to tear away as his neat hair flung, getting messy again. 

“Don’t touch me--”   
“Hey.” Thomas barked, commanding Alex’s eye-contact, “ _ Hey.”  _ he snarled louder, and this time it was harsh enough for Alex to meet his eyes nervously, the fear evident behind the walls he was throwing up. If it wasn’t there, Thomas wouldn’t have done what he did. If he hadn’t seen the fear, he would have shoved Alex away and let him go. Given up. Shook his head and tell himself that no matter what he did, Alexander Hamilton was forever going to be a lost cause, an irredeemable case. 

But it was there. Alex was scared. Thomas knew what it was like to be afraid. And angry. And alone.

For a fraction of a moment, he was at the doctor’s office. Looking at the neat rows of pills lined up for him. For only an instant… he remembered the scratching of a crayon on notebook paper as his parents watched him coldly from the other end of the room. And he saw Alex. Alexander had the same look in his eyes now.

In one movement, he slipped his hands from the top of Alex’s shoulders around his neck. With no lack of abrupt violence, he wrenched Alex’s body towards him, the kid’s leather-soled shoes smacking on the tile floor as he tripped and fell into Thomas’s body, caught by the man’s iron grip. He grunted and tried to yell something, but his face only rubbed against Thomas’s bare chest as he squeezed him. 

“Shut up, you fuck.” Thomas snapped, grip unyielding as he pinned Alexander to his body, holding him there. Alexander finally found a way to lift his head, hostility all over his young face.    
“What are you doing?”

“Just shut. Up.” Thomas commanded, regripping Alexander once so that he had a tighter hold on him, and he placed his own head on top of Alex’s squeezing his eyes shut. The obstruction in his throat was not something he had been ready for. It was rough; it was impromptu, but he was hugging Alexander Hamilton. His hair rubbed against the bottom of Thomas’s chin, and Thomas buried in it, chin on Alex's head.

“This. This here.” Thomas manipulated Alex’s arms, jerking them haphazardly so that his hands were on his back, right over the stinging cuts before he quickly re-embraced his partner, “This isn’t your fault. You didn’t mean to do this, alright; we were both participating in the same damn--” 

“Then who the fuck’s fault is it, huh?” Alex tried to push him away, “You? Lafayette?” Thomas stepped his feet apart on the floor, grunting and struggling to hold him, “You’re kidding yourself like always, you pathetic jackoff. I swear to God, I will kill you and scatter your fucking innards all over the floor if you don’t let my stupid, psychotic ass go--”

Thomas had had enough, with a gravelly grunt, he whipped his body around, pulling Alexander with him as he slammed him up against the fridge hard enough to rattle the teeth out of their skulls. Now he really had nowhere to go as he squirmed, struggling against Thomas, who squeezed him so hard he thought he would shatter. Thomas was being so rough on him. So rough. That was the only way Alexander would learn how to do this. 

“You. Are not. Stupid.” his voice wavered with darkness, spit gargling in the back of his throat with emotional rage. 

Alexander finally went still. The words stilled him. Thomas dug his nails into the cloth on Alex’s back, his hands pressed painfully between the ice-cold fridge door and Alexander’s spine. 

“You. Are not. The one to blame.” Alex was confused to say the least. What… what was he talking about?

“For my back. For the dyslexia. For your goddamn broken arm in third grade, I don’t care what it is.” Thomas spat, “You. Are not. To blame.” he whispered, digging his chin into Alex’s head, still squeezing him until both of them couldn’t breathe. The rage, the pain inside of Thomas was unmentionable. The seething ball of guilt was throbbing. 

“I’m sick. I’m sick of hearing it. The next person to tell me that you’re  _ ‘stupid’ _ or psychotic is looking at a fist in their mouth. Including you. I don’t care if it’s goddamn Lafayette or Washington himself. Fuck em.” he scoffed, “You aren’t stupid. Say it again, I dare you, Hamilton, you arrogant piece of  _ shit.”  _ Alexander almost squeaked at how hard Thomas crushed him against his chest, squeezing the air right out of his lungs. 

Thomas was well aware that he didn’t know how to hug. He couldn’t think of the last time he had received one.

“It’s my fucking problem that you can’t read anymore. Mine. So my  _ ass  _ if you think I’m gonna let it go another year where you can’t; I meant what I said this morning. I'm teaching you. Alright? You got that? _ ”  _ he snarled viciously, voice muffled and violent as all get out as his breath fogged up the metal door. 

After his onslaught was finished, he felt… oddly drained. Like it had taken all of the life out of him to expel a piece of the guilt he had been feeling. But now… Alexander knew. The time of the boy being clueless that Thomas felt regret about what he did was coming to a close, starting with this little furor.

He pressed his forehead against it and was still, holding Alexander and leaning his head against the door. They were both still, Alex crammed under Thomas in this awkward hug. 

It was an odd sensation to feel Alexander’s heart pattering in his chest. Thomas could feel it through his shirt, racing quietly in there. He could feel Alex’s breath rise and fall, the blood coursing through his veins. Head on top of his, he could almost feel the thoughts too, feel them raging so loud.

This argument was so…  _ them.  _ The only way Thomas could think to justify Alexander was to be rough on him, call him names while he defended him. A part of him wished that they weren’t so toxic. A part of him wished that he could go back and redo the entire past ten minutes knowing what he knew now. That seeing the damage and pain he had inflicted on Thomas was different than seeing it on anyone else. 

He wished he had known that before they had ended up here. Still, he could sense his own hypocrisy mixing with his guilt in his gut, pooling thick and heavy like molten lead.  _ He  _ called Alexander psychopathic more than anyon else; how could he say that he wanted to hurt people that said that to Alex when he was one of them? Perhaps it felt like he was the only one who had the right to call him that after all they had been through--after all he had seen Alexander do.

Thomas stared back at the distorted reflection of his face on the fridge door for a few more moments. Alex was completely and utterly silent and still; only the sound of his breath and the beat of his heart signaled that he was even still alive. Thomas just… kept hugging Alexander, who didn’t hug him back, didn’t respond. He was frozen, and the taller could understand why as he towered above him and gripped his own arms that were wrapped around Alex’s neck and shoulders, squeezing him gently as he carefully rubbed one palm gently over Alex’s shoulder blades without thinking. And it felt... right.

He was so small. It was hard to remember that he was a kid. 

Thomas rolled his eyes at himself puffing an exhale. 

“Can you say something so I know you’re alive please?” Thomas drawled the command like a teacher to a class that won’t shut up, loosening his grip on Alex in hopes of looking down on him. The kid’s voice was muffled, but Thomas felt his breath against his collarbone. 

“No.” 

Thomas breathed a quick laugh, frowning in consideration, “Okay.” he pursed his lips, slowly letting go of Alex, but before he could release him, he stopped. He sniffed, brows furrowing down at the horrible rank of something burning. 

Beneath him, Alexander sighed deeply as if exhausted, closing his eyes.    
“If I had to guess, I’d say that’s your sandwich, fuckwit.” 

“Shit--” Thomas immediately released Alex and hopped away too quickly to catch a glimpse of Alex flicking his sleeve cuff to wipe where two tears, one from each eye had accumulated down at his chin in a little dangling droplet. Thomas flung open a drawer, contents rattling violently and fished around in there for anything he could use as a fire poker to pull the charred remains out. Alexander, however, was pleased with the distraction. Especially when he felt like there was an entire subway station resting on his chest with nothing he could do about it. 

He exhaled a long breath and leaned against the fridge slowly, back pressing against the chilly metal. He was completely composed once again, but drained. Whatever had just happened… he needed an hour or so to analyze it, pick it apart and figure out what had tweaked him so much about what he saw. He had cried more in the past week than he had when he was five years old, and that was… concerning to say the least. And Thomas had basically just apologized for something. Was that a thing that Thomas Jefferson could do?

And he'd hugged him.

Alex stared straight ahead, eyes focusing on nothing as Thomas hastily poked inside of the toaster oven with the first item in his sight, a wooden spoon, and forked out his sandwich onto the table. 

“Piece of shit…” Thomas grumbled, waving his hand around the open front of the oven to dissipate the smoke before it could set off any alarms. All that was left of his sandwich were charred remains, black and crumbly. 

Alex finally rotated his head against the fridge looking across to his partner. 

He couldn't help the smile that tried to split his lips despite  _ everything  _ that had just happened. Something about the sight lifted his somber, anxious mood considerably--Thomas standing there shirtless in dress pants and dress shoes waving his hand in front of an obliterated sandwich like an idiot. The greatest cook in probably all of Headquarters unable to even reheat leftovers was sort of ironic, and before Alex knew it, he had snorted, wiping his hand over his mouth to casually cover it, sniveling too.

Thomas gave him his usual, gruff look of disdain as he desperately fanned the smoke with a dish towel, a dirty look on his face at the smell.   
“The hell are you looking at.”

Alex shrugged, tucking four fingers in each pocket in a casual gesture, still smiling,“The doof that was too busy yelling at his partner to notice his sandwich getting crispier than Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru.”

“Very funny, asswipe.” Thomas sneere, but there was a grin suppressed at the corner of his mouth that Alex couldn’t see as he pulled open the trash can with his toe and used his forearm to squeamishly sweep the slightly smoking, acrid-smelling remains straight into the garbage. 

“And I wasn’t yelling at you.”

“Mmm.” Alex hummed, pursing his lips, squinting and tilting his head back into the fridge door to give Thomas a deep nod.

“Mhm. Lemme guess, you were yelling  _ with  _ me. Not at me.” 

“‘M serious, Allie.” Thomas grumbled, kicking the trash can back in the cabinet and pushing it closed with his foot, looking sideways at Alex. The kid could see the scrapes across his back clearly, glaring against his skin. But Thomas paused to look at him, a serious look upon his face, “It’s not your fault. And to answer you, yeah, I cleaned the shallow lacerations with an antiseptic. No big deal.” 

Alex compressed his lips together, only looking at Thomas for an instant more before he stared straight ahead across the living room. Alex sighed quietly. He knew that a lot of things were his fault. The endless headstones scattered on the graves of innocent victims. And not so innocent ones were all his fault. But he was aware that one of the deaths would never be. One of them would _never, never_ be his fault, even though he was the one that knowingly and willingly pulled the trigger. Eight times.

Randolph Emerson’s. 

“Right.” Alex responded with a barely noticeable, curt nod to himself. Thomas Jefferson. One of the only men on the face of the planet that could tell Alex that the open cuts he had personally clawed into him weren’t his fault, but the death of his beloved friend was. Alex placed the ball of a foot on the fridge and leaned forward, pushing himself off it with a huff and a sigh. 

“Thanks for the chat, Jefferson. Real sweet of you.” Alexander smiled at him, which perplexed Thomas. Every time. Every time they were having a moment, Alexander had to go and fuck it up.

The kid started to stroll away, hands still in his pockets as he rounded the edge of the island counter towards the seat where he had slung his suit jacket messily over. He cast a glance to Thomas, some unnamed emotion ginting behind his pupils. 

“And thanks for the hug. Really makes me feel all rainbows and unicorns inside.” he kept smiling, but Thomas could pick up on that shit-behavior like a bloodhound. He furrowed his brows together and turned, facing Alexander as he crossed his arms over his bare chest. Alex could see the contours of his muscles on his torso beneath them, contracting as he moved.

“What’s with the passive-aggressive attitude?” he sneered incredulously, yanking his shirt off the table, and Alexander frowned with a tilt of his head, shrugging the suit jacket over his shoulders in a smooth movement he knew well. Thomas just watched, clueless, as Alex straightened his sleeves, pulling them into position. 

“No, don’t get me wrong, I’m loving the touchy-feely stuff you pull, Tommy.” Alex sighed, businesslike as he pulled his phone off the counter and gazed at it, checking his notifications and reading them through. 

“But you’ve got a hell of a lot more apologizing to do after two years of your crap. But I’ll give you credit for this one. It’s a start.” he laughed, clicking off his phone and tucking it into his back pocket as he tilted his face back up to stare at Thomas. He was acting his usual sly and superior self, but there was no doubt that there was a dark and  _ deep  _ pain roiling behind his eyes.

Thomas shook his head, the wiry muscle flashing on his jaw and temple.    
Their conversation was interrupted by a high pitched, _ear shattering_ beeping like a fire alarm going off. Alex flinched, looking up and around as he immediately dropped into a defensive stance, fight or flight reaction kicking in.

Thomas did the same, immediately looking to Alex, who copied him like a mirror. The boy opened his arms, still looking frantically around. 

“The hell is that?” he spat over the beeping, but his eyes fell on Thomas’s phone, sitting near the pile of books and the Schuyler file on the kitchen counter. From afar, he could see an alert in a grey text box appearing on his lock screen as it buzzed and created the shockingly ear-splitting noise. With one last skeptical glance to Thomas, he strode forward in one swift lunge and swiped it off the counter, eyes darting all over the screen before he remembered… 

He couldn't read it.

Thomas silently strode with long steps around the island to Alex’s side, one palm on the counter top as he came up behind him, peering down over his shoulder--an easy task. His brows were pulled down darkly as his black eyes reflected the screen, darting left to right in order to read the words.    
“Well?” Alex inquired impatiently, hating the beeping.   
“Shh-h.” Thomas spat, reaching over Alexander to swipe up on the notification, his face unlocking the phone. That was when Alexander heard another chorus of ringing, and this time, it was coming from his own back pocket. 

“Wh--” he reached behind him and hiked the phone up out of his pants pocket, now having Thomas’s in one hand and his in the other, both of them reading frantically from the sources they could read from. There were only a few more seconds of the shocked silence before Thomas beckoned with his fingers for his phone.    
“Gun. Get your gun, Alexander.” 

But the kid was silent, finishing up reading the alert that had come on both of their phones directly from Washington’s command on their in-phone pagers--the cause of the loud beeping. This meant it was urgent. The location they were required to be at was clearly displayed: floor 88. 

The holding cells within Headquarters’ walls. 

Alexander was frozen. Those cells were temporary; there was hardly ever a time where there were more than ten residents there, because--

“The inmates in those cells are only there for in-house interrogation purposes.” Alexander shook his head, turning it up from his phone with an incredulous look as Thomas walked briskly around him, finishing the last button on his dress-shirt before turning around twice in the kitchen, eyes scanning all around before he pointed at a cupboard and squatted down, wrenching it open. 

“Which means someone--”   
“Got out.” Thomas finished, head in a cabinet as he fished around. Alex flicked his brows down, peering over the counter at the sound of clicking like Thomas was unclasping something, then the tearing of velcro. 

“How many agents are on this?” Alex hastily tightened his tie, “The whole bureau?” Alex hadn’t even finished his words before his partner stood right back up. He had a modern-looking matte black glock, one that could match the Nightcrawler in style grasped in his right hand. 

“Did you read it?”

Alexander shrugged, fastening the buttons at his cuffs with haste, because everyone knew a page was a big deal. A  _ big  _ fucking deal.   
“Was a little distracted by the incessant beeping.”

“HQ is on watch and lockdown, but top agents are on it. Get your gun. Now.” Thomas commanded, pointing at him with one finger and gesturing upstairs to Alex’s room. 

“You keep those things lying around?” Alex scoffed in surprise as Thomas bumped a halfway-in magazine into the mag well of a pistol with a loud clack. Alex’s face fell open with shock. 

“You keep those things lying around?” he scoffed in surprise as Thomas released the slide-catch, the gun clicking into a loaded position. Thomas eyed it, tilting the gun back and forth in front of his own face, observing the way the light reflected like an art critic. 

“There’s a difference between you and I, Alexander.” he tucked the muzzle under his belt, breezing by Alex once again to stop at his side and snatch his suit jacket off of the back of the chair. Alexander met Thomas’s eyes as the man swung the coat around his shoulders and shrugged his arms through rapidly, cloth rustling as he shook his hair out. 

“I don’t display my weapons. I keep them hidden for when I actually _need_ them.” he gave Alex a cock of his head before Alex smirked, taking one step closer before he passed. 

“That’s cute.” he reached under his shirt and pulled out Eurmaeker from where she was concealed, her metal top and black grip shining in the kitchen light. Alex could read Thomas’s surprise like a baby book, “And I keep my weapons on me.” Alexander cocked his head at Thomas as he passed, breaking into a backwards jog. 

“Fucking--” Thomas lunged into a sprint, following Alex who was strangely quick to the door. The kid laughed and pivoted with impossible agility, reaching the door handle not before Thomas gained on him and grabbed it too, slamming the door shut in front of Alexander. The kid whirled around, long hair bouncing on his shoulders.    
“Problem, sir?”

Thomas towered over him, breathing hard from the sprint. His cologne wafted over Alexander.

“Who goes in and out of this house first?” Thomas snarled, putting his hands up beside Alexander’s head on the door so that his suit hung away from his frame, trapping Alex with his looming body. Alexander shrugged. 

“First come first serve.”   
“The rule is there for a reason.” Thomas pointed right in his face between his eyes, and Alex just laughed it off, playing this whole ordeal off as a joke. The adrenaline was running high in his veins. This was going to be fun: a manhunt inside of sealed headquarters? It would be like deer hunting in a zoo, and there would be no escape for who Alexander hunted down. Instead, the teenager let his heart pump, leaning against the door that Thomas was holding closed behind him. His big chest expanded with breath, towering over Alex with a straight face as the kid just splayed on his smirk, turning his big hazel eyes seductively up to Thomas.

The driver could  _ feel  _ the sexual energy effusing from his body. Basically smell it on him like a hound.    
“So that you can do this?” Alex smiled, flicking the tip of his tongue over his lips, wetting them so that they glistened with spit, and Thomas was… clearly affected. The taller shook his head, placing his forearms down on the wall next to Alex’s ears so that he was closer.

“I swear to God.” Thomas breathed, leaning down quickly, to devour his mouth, but Alex smiled, turning up his head at the last moment so that Thomas’s lips made contact with his jaw instead, bumping against him less-than-gracefully. 

“Ah, ah, ah.” Alex sang, turning his head more so that he neatly dodged Thomas, who had immediately pulled back once he’d knocked his nose on Alex’s face. The kid played with the lapels of Thomas’s jacket while the other hand lifted a single finger to hush Thomas’s lips, pressing against them, “Business time, you dirty-minded whore.” Alex grinned wickedly, sliding his finger down Thomas’s lips, tugging the bottom one with a nail before trailing down the buttons on his chest.

“Excuse me?” Thomas whispered. He was clearly in shock. 

He knew that adrenaline affected Alex in this way, but now his partner was teasing simply because he could. Torturing him right back. This wasn’t the first time they had done this dance, Alexander getting both of them riled up right before they leapt off into something important. Nevertheless, Thomas dived headfirst into it again and found himself here, wanting more of Alex each time. 

“Honestly, Thomas, if you can’t control yourself, you shouldn’t be allowed to have nice things.” Alexander snorted loftily, turning away with one more glance at his taller partner in his dark eyes as he pulled open the door, squeezing through, his gun in his belt clanking against the edge of the door as he passed by. He wished he had time to change into shoes meant for running, but the leather dress shoes should suffice. When he was out in the hall, he peeked over his shoulder.

“Waiting for something?” he called to Thomas, who stepped out as well, not even locking the door behind him as he started to speed-walk in order to pass Alexander on the way to the elevator. 

“Yeah. A reason on God’s green earth not to break your puny neck over my knee like a toothpick.” he spat every consonant of the last word, punching them violently. Nobody. Nobody on the fucking history of the planet had ever been so infuriating in every possible meaning of the word.    
“Mmm. Rain-check, shall we?” Alex lifted his chin and finished tightening the knot at his throat with an air of smug sophistication as Thomas passed, a breeze of his scent following. 

“Will do.” his feet thumped in a muffled percussion on the softly carpeted hallway floor, reaching the end in about five strides to punch the down arrow with the side of his hand. 

“Get over here.”   
“I’m sorry, I thought you could read.” Alexander didn’t take another step towards him, and Thomas paused.    
“What was that?”

Alex rolled his eyes as if it was exhausting being stuck with such morons on a daily basis.    
“The bureau is on lockdown, genius, and you think the elevators are going to be operational?” he shook his head, turning the opposite direction from Thomas, who was staring down by his wrist at the down-arrow which had--of course--not even lit up to signal any response from the machine. 

“Stairs are this way.”   
“I know that.” Thomas spat, breaking into a jog just as Alexander did the same, suit fluttering behind him. The two’s feet thumped on the carpet, picking up the pace when they heard voices from behind the doors to their left and right. 

Alexander didn’t have time to question it as two doors burst open on either side, against in uniform yelling to each other as they followed suit, falling in behind Thomas and Alexander. One called out to Thomas, looking like he’d just woken up from a long sleep, eyes red and groggy. He had probably been on the night shift.

“Hey. You two heading to 88?” he called as he swiftly cocked a gun and broke stride into a run behind Thomas. Alex looked over as he slammed his palms into the door at the end of the hall, heart already thudding with adrenaline as he watched the scene on Thomas’s floor take place. He could smell the dry, rubbery scent of the stairwell, the cool air buffeting his face. 

“Pager went off. Move.” Thomas growled over his shoulder--permitted to be blunt with these people in the same hurry as he. The other man nodded to Alex and to his friend, following as Thomas pointed at them then to Alex.

“Fall in behind Hamilton. Laughlin, Kepner, hold up the rear until we’re on location. Hamilton goes first; nobody passes him without my word, clear?” Thomas barked the command loudly at the accumulating agents behind them, more doors slamming open, some men and women missing their ties just as Thomas was in the rush to get out.

“What the hell is this?” A breathless woman caught up with the pace, filing through the door into the echoey space, but nobody paid any mind when the same question was on everybody’s mind. Clatters and slapping footsteps filled the space like an avant-garde symphony, the agents pulling magazines out of pockets and belts, loading pistols as they ran, ties and suits fluttering over shoulders. Thomas watched from behind as Alexander’s sandy, nearly auburn mane caught all of the headwind, contrasting against the tar-black of his suit. 

Thomas put Alexander ahead of the pack for the safety of the entire group, including Alex. He wasn’t picking favorites. If the escapee was dangerous and had gotten their hands on a weapon, Alexander wouldn’t be able to snipe them if he was in the middle of the group, and the chances of anyone marking down the escapee before Alexander did were astronomically slim. Thomas extracted his gun, holding it with both hands as he easily drew level with Alexander, both of them beginning to thump--more like smack--down the stairs. 

“Guns out, people. I want silence till we’re standing in front of Washington’s polished Louis Vittons, any questions?” Alex called with a snarling tone, cocking his own legendary firearm with screwed up lips as Thomas became equal with him, their knees pumping in synchronization down the stairs.The dusty place had rarely been so loud, agents thundering down the steps in a group of at least a dozen. Alexander placed one hand on the banister, swinging around the corner to descend the next flight of stairs. He was quick, almost hard for Thomas to keep up with even when they were both sprinting. 

When Alexander noticed that Thomas was there, his heart skipped a beat. And not in a good way. 

“Get in the back, Thomas.” Alex spoke only to him, not even casting him a glance. 

“What?” The older snarled hostilely, not following the command.    
“I said get in the back; you can’t shoot, dimwit.”

“Not a chance.” Thomas refused, “Don’t talk to me like that.”

There was a moment of grunting silence as Alexander and Thomas swung around again, the ringing shouts of agents pouring in behind them and thundering down the stairwell muffling their conversation. Thomas caught up again, leaning his head down with some difficulty to Alex’s level, but before he could talk, Alex cut him off, panting now from the adrenaline and burning muscles. It didn’t help very much that it was only an hour ago that he had been limping around, and the soreness was still relevant. 

“You can’t fight them if you have a bullet in your forehead, Einstein. Fall back.”   
“How do you know they have their hands on a gun, Allie--?”

“I don’t, and I’m not risking it. Christ, Thomas.” Alexander looked straight ahead, breathing hard, hair flowing in his own breeze as his feet smacked rapidly down each rubber step. Thomas could see his soft throat rising and falling rapidly with breath, see from the side his light hazel eyes flicking all around the towering staircase around them that seemed to curl down… down… down. It was vivid, surreal, watching Alexander run headlong into the crossfire, fire crackling in the brown kindling of his irises, lips parted to breathe. When Thomas wasn’t responding, captivated by the fact that Alexander was alive, living, breathing in front of him, the kid got irritated and spoke again.

“Get behind me; a dead driver is no use to me.” he tried to snarl, but the desperation in his tone was evident. Perhaps it was the strain of running that threw off his usual tendencies for deceit, but now it was clear even to Thomas that Alexander wasn’t commanding as much as begging for him to stay out of the danger. 

Thomas’s entire mind paused for a split second. 

“Allie--”   
The kid turned his face up and yelled, “Guns ready and shut up.” Alexander shouted, his voice echoing in chaotic chorus with the deafening thunder of footsteps all the way up the cavernous stairwell. The austere, plain steel door at the end of this platform was labeled with a starling, almost construction yellow sign reading “88: HOLDING CELLS”. Not that Alex could read anything, but the numbers were clear. However, his lips curled into a smile. 

Luck would be on his side on this floor. 

Smile on his lips and eyeing the door, he jogged down the final two steps. His right hand brushed the chilliness of the railing as he tried to peer through the barred window on the entrance from a distance but saw nothing. He’d have to go closer, and he didn’t ask for anyone’s permission to do so. He wasn’t looking yet, but the sniper could feel the attention, the agents all waiting for his orders without any established hierarchy yet. When Alexander reached the end of the concrete platform, he scanned it up and down. 

This place was basically equivalent to a back alley--the stairwell, that is. Nobody used the stairs, and the design was primitive compared to the rest of lavish headquarters, smelling like construction and rubber, the yellow paint of the sign peeling and the simplistic door facing him almost apologetically. Alex didn’t mind. If anyone was used to places on both ends of the luxury spectrum, it was himself.

He placed his hand on the cold bar of the door before whipping his head around, facing the swarm of agents behind him. They all moved slightly, trotting to a stop, the clopping sounded like a herd of horses were coming down the stairs, and with one glance from those hazel eyes, they halted. Not a single one stepped down onto the concrete landing except for Thomas, far from Alex. 

The driver was the one holding up his hand in complete and utter silence--the hand he had flicked up as soon as he had seen Alexander’s eyes. There was rustling and a couple of whispers scattered through the congregation of black and white suits, a film-noir display on the staircase in front of him. 

“No one makes a sound.” he called up to them, gesturing at them with Eurmaeker, hand still on the bar of the door, “Thomas. Wave them in when I give you a clear. If Washington’s on site we take orders from him, if not, you answer to Thomas; do I make myself clear.” he spoke vociferously all in the same breath and tone, asserting himself cleanly. 

With a lift of his chin, he settled his gaze upon Thomas’s black eyes staring right at him. The man still held up a hand, the tension vibrating in the stairwell. 

Alex nodded to him, a look that meant “stay…” as he turned his body, head following soon after as he peered at the door. 

This was the part where his heart could start steadily thumping… thumping in his chest.

All eyes on him, he crept forward, holding Eurmaeker so close at the ready that she was practically pressed against his lips, her metal freezing against them as he pushed his hand on the door, expecting it not to swing in for him. From the other side… he could hear footsteps approaching. They started soft, but they accelerated in rapidity and volume, thumping towards him in synchronization with his heartbeat. They started soft, but got louder louder…  _ louder. _

As soon as he touched the door the slightest amount, it was flung open. 

Alexander, completely silent, swiftly screwed up his lips and shoved the barrel of his glock up under the jaw of whoever he had just encountered, heart exploding in his chest with excitement. With the pure, uncontrolled adrenaline of being watched while he would get to slaughter someone without a warning. The muzzle connected with the soft underside of someone’s chin, and he was about to say his line when the towering figure in front of him huffed a grunt, moving with a rustle of fabric. With a swiftness Alexander had never seen in his entire life, the man twisted Eurmaeker away from his face, making Alex’s wrist pop. Alexander snarled, resisting with his finger on the trigger before preparing to engage in a hand-to-hand fight if he couldn’t get the glock close enough, but he heard a gruff, barking voice. 

“Hamilton, it’s me.” the voice growled just as Alex was digging the zero-grip leather soles of his shoes into the grainy concrete below him to take another lunge, muscles bunching up. Instead, all of that momentum built up into a stumble and a grinding halt. 

He panted, holding Eurmaeker at the ready to glimpse the man in front of him, far larger than he. Chest rising and falling, his straight-out arm lowered his glock to his side with a sigh. 

“Your Excellency.” he addressed, running a hand through his hair. George nodded, already peering over Alexander’s head to the terrace of agents up on the stairs. Thomas was standing there with an arm out to keep the floodgates closed, slung across a couple people’s chests.   
“Apologies, but we’re short on time. I have orders from myself and Head Lafayette--”

On cue, the door swung open behind George once again, and Alexander re-aimed. Through the series of clicking and clacking in the crowd, it was obvious that he wasn’t the only one with a gun at the ready. 

“ _ Whoa là, Jésus.”  _ A familiar French accent spoke in a surprised tone, and Lafayette answered hands up in innocence to show who he was. His suit swung at his hips as he stopped beside the Director with an inconvenienced look on his proud face.

Several men and women filed in after him and ceased their intense conversations as they entered the silent stairwell. They were clearly those that were going to watch and facilitate the investigation, staff that were managing the cameras down there and a couple of confused looking maintenance guys. They all apologetically shuffled up the stairs, casting glances at the agents as they passed as quickly as possible. Lafayette just stared at the agents in his department that he was in charge of.

“Ladies. Gentlemen. Put those ridiculous things away.” he clipped in his usual terse, demanding tone of voice, and as people started to move, Washington cut in.

“Not. Yet.” George cast a sideways glance at Lafayette, and Lafayette did not return it. Did not meet his eye. Confused, the agents, held their guns low but still out.    
The youngest person in the stairwell’s brows turned down… 

Only Alexander was close enough to notice, and only Alexander had the skills to notice. The little facial movements, the tiny body language between them. Lafayette was purposely looking away from George. 

Alexander squinted. 

Washington turned to the rest of the group once again, “I apologize for the urgency, but I must rush through this.” he sighed, speaking quickly, “Yes, a detained individual brought in for professional questioning on an armed attack and vehicle theft has... infiltrated an escape from her cell sometime before her scheduled interrogation between ten minutes ago--when she was seen by the staff--and now. There isn’t any evidence of accomplices--”

“But we are not sure.” Lafayette finished his sentence. With a moment’s pause that only Alex could pick up on, George continued. 

“Yes. Thank you, Mr. Lafayette.” he clipped, clearing his throat and shifting his shoulders as he started to speak on his same point again, “The detainee’s cell was found empty ten minutes ago at 16:05, and I paged you with all the information I could on site. We don’t know where she has gone, but we have orders, and we have a mugshot.” he placed his hands up on his hips, taking the time to meet all of their eyes, “I expect her back here,  _ alive.  _ You have a locked-down headquarters, and anyone who doesn’t see this as an easy walk in the park can get out now. Monsieur,” 

George nodded to Lafayette to give commands while he reached into his back pocket to extract his phone. Meanwhile, Alexander tossed an awkward glance over his shoulder to make a connection with Thomas as he naturally did, let them read each other’s thoughts and intentions in a split second. 

Their eyes met across the platform, black and hazel, and it was clear. When they locked… time seemed to slow down as they figured each other out without difficulty. Neither wanted to search for the bastard without the other. 

“We’re looking for a brunette, middle-aged woman with green eyes and enhanced lips.” Washington lifted his phone calmly, letting it project onto the wall behind him from a blinding beam of light. The image was distorted by the surface and the reflection wasn’t idea, but Alexander’s heart plummeted into his stomach. From across the platform, Thomas just saw Alex’s eyes widen, his jaw slacken before the boy turned away, head snapping forward to the Director. 

He thought time had stopped as he could only hear the sound of his heart thump… thump inside of his ears. It couldn’t be fucking possible. This had to be some sort of cruel, surreal dream that his mind had conjured up… but it was no such thing. 

Twitching on the wall behind both of them was the mugshot of the woman that had known Alexander from Harlem. The woman from the mission this morning. She stared back at them with her muddy green eyes and plumped up lips, frozen in time. Alexander hardly heard Lafayette clearly pointing and calling the orders to individual agents, sending them off in groups of three as he tried to breathe. It was all muffled like he was underwater.

Something about her seemed wrong. 

“....Kalainov, Jefferson, Fucito, take the garages and armory, Gupta, Laughlin, Kepner, emergency exits and floor 87 airways. I want her to _ feel  _ our presence. She has nowhere to run.” he spoke fervently with dark passion as agents started to bark to each other and trot back up the stairs in an orderly fashion, splitting off into their search parties. Alex, however, remained standing.

“Lafs.” Alex spoke as the echoing noise nearly drowned him out, “You didn’t say my name?” he opened his hand, confused. Had he missed it during his shock?

There was an exchanged glance between George and Gilbert in which Lafayette pursed his lips, but George continued to Alex.   
“Hamilton, we’ve agreed you have the best chance going solo. We’re having you search this floor.” 

Alex shook his head, hair shuffling over his back, “Why would--” he suddenly felt eyes on the back of his head and swiveled it around, peering over his shoulder to see Thomas being swept away by the crowd, the man craning to look at Alexander as he was basically pushed back up the stairs by the groups filing out. 

Alex’s heart raced in his chest, and he looked back to George when he sighed, not wanting to tear his eyes from his driver.    
“Are you denying that you can do this, Agent Hamilton?” he shook his head, almost impatient, “Because I can send you with a group and ask for a different sniper in an easy two seconds; it hardly makes a difference.” 

“No, I’m saying that I--” he cut himself off with pressed lips, looking down at his feet for one second before tilting his head back up to his superiors, composed as he could be, “Of course not. Can I go now, or were you planning on giving her a head start?”

“Hamilton.” Lafayette spoke, a fair warning to watch his behavior around both of their bosses, but the kid was already on his way. Lafayette couldn’t just decide he had the right to warn Alex with one word like Thomas did. Lafayette couldn’t magically decide he was in charge after sleeping with him.

“Excuse me, gentlemen.” he nodded between the men, and they both kept their eyes on him as they parted, allowing him access to the door. Replace him with another sniper in two seconds?  _ “Yeah, my ass.”  _ he thought darkly,  _ “Shoulda thought of that one before you sprung my ass out of a life sentence.” _

He placed his elbow on the crash bar of the door and with a “clunk” he pushed it inwards, the hinges groaning and squealing at the movement. Before he could go, there were two shuffles of feet on the floor. He could do this alone, he thought confidently. Or… was that just for self-reassurance? Who was he trying to prove it to?

“Xander.” 

Alex turned his head, blinking cooly at Lafayette.    
“Yeah?”

The Frenchman flicked his fingers at Alex, gesturing to where the kid’s phone would be.

“If you get to her, page the rest of the agents.” he shook his head, “She cannot take twenty against on her own. She has nowhere to run.”

“Copy that.” Alex sighed, turning back towards the metal. He could faintly see his reflection, and for a moment, he was brought back to the moments he had just spent with Thomas in the kitchen. The apology, the embrace. A slice of frustration shot through his head following the little jolt of nervousness that came first. Going into this without Thomas didn’t feel right. It was just… there was no way to describe it except for “wrong”. “Off”. The best thing he could think to do was desensitize himself to it.

“Now let me do my job.” he commanded calmly, stepping through the threshold and not bothering to close the heavy door quietly. Something inside of him was pulsating quietly with a silent sort of…  ickiness. It wasn’t anger, it wasn’t discomfort… it was somewhere in between, some sort of heavy combo, similar to the subdrop he had experienced a couple nights ago.

With a boom, the door sealed him into floor 88.

The bang echoed through the space, and reverberated in the air… repeating as it grew softer and softer with each repetition. He waited, letting his surroundings sink into his senses, heightening them. He took a deep breath in to smell, his pupils expanding in the light to see, everything on alert. As the echoes faded, it almost sounded like voices yelling out into a canyon. Alex perked his ears to listen. 

In the silence, in the solitude, a sense of uneasiness crept into his gut. Something about the sound of the door banging closed in the empty space didn’t sit well with him. He could remember what he associated with that sound like a dog salivating to a bell. 

A heavy metal door clanging closed in a pristine, empty room to him had an entirely different meaning when  _ he _ was the one locked inside the room. Alone. To him, it meant it was time to be muzzled. Restrained in a straightjacket, and taken to the examination room. Even now as he pursed his lips and stood an inch inside of the closed door, adjusting his grip around the sticky handle of his glock, he remembered the rules. If he cooperated, he was privileged with two hours of socialization for that day only. One hour for food, one hour in the recreational hall which was nothing more than a white room with chairs and one chessboard for those that could play. 

If he did not cooperate, they would find persuasion until he did. And then back into the darkness. 

Alex quietly closed his eyes and inhaled a deep breath, squeezing Eurmaeker to feel the customized divots for his fingers, the grainy grip against his skin. He wasn’t under someone else’s finger now. He was here. He had gotten out. 

But when he opened them, his heart still dropped, sending a cold splash of adrenaline down through his body like it had spilled over his chest as ice water. He blinked, trying to catch his breath again, but it seemed out of his control.

The sniper scanned the scene in front of him, the place he had been many times. Now, after his year, everything was different. Everything was… tinted with a stain of darkness, like it was  _ dripping it _ . 

The place smelled the way a garage did--slightly greasy, slightly metallic. It was clear that someone somewhere hadn’t bothered to flush a toilet as the reek of sitting urine for at least an hour was evident. To the right and to the left a hallway continued, long lines of fluorescent lights, but in front of him was the main attraction.

A much larger hallway spread out directly ahead, and the left side was lined with rows… and rows of vaults with grated vents at the top for airflow. Only outdated penitentiaries and prisons still used barred cells as it violated the privacy of the individual. But that fact almost made Alexander sick. It made him disgusted and sick that anyone could talk about the humaneness of privacy when the thoughts inside his own mind, the tests they ran on him had everything to do with his privacy.

With a crisp shake of his head, he tried to walk forward, but the feeling still clung to him like the acrid smell of ash to a smoker. This was wrong, and perhaps he was vulnerable from what happened with Thomas not half an hour ago, but nevertheless this was torture in itself. His footsteps echoed on the floor. Tap, tap…. Tap….

He could hear himself breathing in the utterly empty floor of Headquarters. This would be fine if he wasn’t alone--if he had someone with him. If he had Thomas with him. But he was alone. In a prison. Searching for a woman fleeing to her freedom from this hellish existence of perpetual solitude. 

“I almost want to let you go…” Alex mumbled to himself, not loud enough that any listener could make out his words, but enough so that he could hear himself, hear another voice. One of the lights above his head flickered and blinked too quickly to be obviously noticeable, but he could hear the glitchy buzz overhead. He flashed a glance up to it and swallowed, tapping down the hallway with that same dread in his gut, the same primal panic of when he was taken from his own cell to be tested on. 

Their logic at the asylum was simple, and their logic was heinous. 

As he stepped down the hallway, passing the first cell, his eyes were drawn to it. He scanned the contours of the vault door and wondered how thick it was, certainly not as thick as the vault to his solitary chamber had been. He remembered the ordinance that had been read to him, he could  _ hear  _ their words echoing as they had over the loudspeaker into his cell after the first time they had left him there.

“Seventeen-year-old male, Alexander James Hamilton, inmate #8808H, convicted of the unprovoked first-degree-murder of Randolph H. Emerson is sentenced for lifelong solitary confinement within this facility. The accuser, Thomas (no middle name) Jefferson, has pleaded in trial for a requested refrain from the death penalty by lethal electrical shock to the convict in question. Inmate #8808H is henceforth turned over as property of the government, and is therefore subject to potential testing in accordance to the medical and educational wishes and purposes of professionals in the field. He will not be removed from vault #118 under any circumstances but for testing. He will not be allowed to move from his restraints under any circumstances but for testing.”

The personalized sentence information they had read to him had been pages long. Rules. Regulations. Meals, restrains, mental stimulation, visitation restrictions, they echoed in his head, but  _ that _ clause in particular was one he could say in his sleep. That was the one he remembered to this moment as he stepped, foot over foot silently on the hard, glossy floor of the hall that reflected the rectangular light fixtures above him. 

“Where are you, you mafia bitch….” he mumbled, rolling his eyes around to scan his surroundings. 

To the left were the interrogation rooms, he knew. There was nothing more than an empty room with a metal table, two chairs, and a security camera in the corner, recording every word and movement. Now the place was void of life, a ghost town with two inhabitants--if that horrible woman was still somewhere on this floor. Alexander wasn’t in the mood for a chase anymore. Not like this, but he knew what would work. The verbal scare. 

It was the same reaction people have when they’re hiding during hide and seek, and the seeker comes into the room, looking for them. The primal urge to burst out and take flight instead of being found was a gripping one; anyone knew that. Alex knew the method like the back of his hand. Any other time, he’d have fun with this… but the setting, the time, and the place. The solitude...

“Come out, come out, wherever you are.” he sang on a sigh, listening to his voice echo, he tapped his molars against each other, not smiling, “I don’t want to have to hurt you…” he lifted his arm out to the side as he walked slowly, strolling. As he did so… there was a series of sharp metal clangs and scraping as he slowly, painfully slowly dragged the muzzle of his gun across the fronts of the vault doors to his right. It bumped along, and he held it lazily, allowing it to create a symphony of earl-splitting noises in the echoing space, shattering the silence.

As soon as he had dragged the tip of his gun to the end of the third vault, he heard a noise. He paused dead in his tracks, ears perked as he listened. He slowed his breath, slowing his heartbeat as he craned for the source.

It sounded again. A deep thump and then a shuffle. 

Alex’s lip curled into a sick smile, and he carefully lifted his chin, eyes squinting with pleasure. That was easy. 

So she had decided to move from her cell to another one, hide until no attention was down there, and then make a run for it. Painfully predictable, so much so that nobody would ever predict it.

“Come on, now, horseface. Hide and seek is supposed to be difficult.” he huffed sarcastically, turning towards the vault. His face darkened as he gripped Eurmaeker steadily and quietly in his hands, raising one knee up from the ground. 

“You make it too easy…” he whispered, kicking the metal door inwards with his foot. It was only obvious that they were all unlocked in order to be searched, and it gave way easily under his pressure, swinging away from him and slamming with a “BANG” against the inside of the cell. It bounced back slightly, swaying on the hinges. It was thinner than he thought, and held his gun lazily at the ready, eyes darting all over the room. It was obviously different than his own cell had been. There was a minimalistic bed, a toilet, and that was all. But no people… 

“I stand corrected.” he frowned in surprise, giving it one last thorough look before turning away slowly heading on to the next one.    
“I know you’re in here…” he sang without a smile on his face. This wasn’t as much fun when he was by himself, still creeped out by the eeriness of the place, by the haunting familiarity.

“Only three more to go. Give me a hint.” he spoke, screwing up his lips with a huff of effort as he kicked open the next one, another bang following. He scanned it again, gun at the ready, but it was just as empty as the last. 

“Three…” he trailed off, walking away from that cell right up to the door of the next, taking a step back before using his left leg this time to break it open with yet another deafening slam. If that bitch was in here, she should be sufficiently terrified by now.

“Two…” Alex called out again, approaching the last one and stopping in front of it. He settled his small finger on the cold trigger of his glock. The very weapon that had claimed the lives of countless innocents and sinners. The vault door stared him down, reflecting him in the cold, white light of the fixtures overhead, the reflection of the interrogation rooms flanking him. Alexander waited until he could hear a pin drop, all echoes fading. And he waited.

There was a shuffle.

“One.” he whispered, rearing back to slam his shoulder into the door this time, charging in.   
“Hands on your head, down on your knees--” he barked, gun in front of him as he burst into the room, filling up the door with his body. His eyes darted madly around, hair flinging as his head swiveled. His eyes were drawn to the top of the back wall of the metal cell. 

The light on the ceiling was off. Where there was supposed to be a grate at the top of the back of the cell… there was just an empty, gaping rectangle that led to the ventilation shaft, the grate completely gone. His brows swooped down, gripping tighter on his gun.

“What the--” he started, tongue numb, but the next thing he saw was a flash of white and sparks in his eyes as something  _ slammed  _ into his head, smashing right on his face with a BOOM. 

“ _ Gah!”  _ Alex roared in pain and stumbled backwards out of the cell, reeling with the blow. He panted, trying to open his eyes, but it was like they were glued shut after the pain of the hit, watering as he blinked. He heard someone else breathing, panting, and as he tried desperately to look around in blindness, he jumped at the bouncing clang of a metal grate being dropped down to the floor and discarded. Alexander growled for breath, forcing his eyes open and seeing sparks as he glanced around, lifting Eurmaeker. 

A dark figure stood in front of him, perhaps his exact height. She was wearing rhinestone jeans and a black sweatshirt, the hoot pulled low on top of a messenger’s cap over her head. Spilling over her shoulders was damaged hair, but he couldn’t see her face. He had enough clues to know who she was.

“You.” he spat, aiming his gun so that he would take out her left eye right in the pupil whenever he pleased, “Don’t fucking move, you mafia  _ bitch.”  _ he shook his head to see that she had dropped the grate on the ground behind her after she had hit him with it. He looked her up and down, reacquainting himself with her presence even though he couldn't see her face, and his lip curled back as he remembered their conversation in Italian that they had had out by the semi truck that morning. 

“Congratulations. You have half the FBI looking for your ass as we speak.” he scoffed to emphasize the hopelessness of her escape attempt. 

“Maybe.” she rasped, a smirk pulling her lips beneath the hood, “But I’ve only gotta deal with one little teenage shit, don't I?” her voice broke into a snarl as she lunged forward at Alexander, running at him. 

The kid was astonished. She was so unnaturally limber and fast for a middle-aged person. Impressed as he was, Alex easily sidestepped her, lifting an elbow to clip her in the jaw as she passed and wrap the other arm around the back of her head, the whacks of a hand-fight following. They both grunted and snarled, squabbling and scrabbling at each other as they collided with a thump. She was disoriented from the elbow to the face, but they were evenly matched with Alex having been decked in the face with a metal panel. 

“Stop. Fucking struggling.” he huffed, “Where’re you gonna run. Huh?” He stepped back to duck a rather clever blow and caught her hand in his own with a smack of knuckles on palm before he swung a swift left right up under her diaphragm with a grunt. She coughed and bent forward, kneeing him in the stomach as they stumbled backwards towards the cell, their fight continuing. Alex was shocked to say the least. She seemed like she had some sort of… professional training in this area of hand-to-hand combat. She wasn’t as skilled as he was, but she was certainly holding her own. 

Alex could take her any day. 

He pushed her back into the vault with each blow, overtaking her. Blow by blow, Alexander's youth gave him the advantage as the tables began to turn in his favor.

He hit her again. And again. And again. Head, ribs, stomach, until she screamed with each one, backing up until she was at the center of the room. She stumbled, one arm over her head to shield herself and the other reaching behind her to rest on the bed. She was completely on defense now, and Alex knew that he had won. It didn’t even seem too easy at the time. Panting, chest rising and falling heavily from the exhaustion, Alex relented, taking a rare case of mercy on the old hag.

“Sit down,” Alexander spat, holding the gun pointed at her face that he couldn’t see behind the hood of the black jacket. She whimpered, and Alexander rolled his eyes. 

“For Christs’s sake, shut up, and sit down. You’re staying here, you old sack of shit.” she sobbed quietly, panting as she shakily found the edge of the bed with her hand and lowered down to sit on it, her face lowered down. Alexander scoffed in disgust at the cowardice, shaking his head at her as he reached behind him into his pocket, Eurmaeker gripped lazily in his hand.    
After all this hassle she had just moved to another cell and tried to escape via the ventilation pipes. Pathetic. Final step was to page the rest of the search team and put this bitch into questioning and under elevated surveillance. 

But something else seemed off about her...

She was acting... weird--different than how she was acting when they were out by the semi. It didn't feel like it was the same woman. And she wasn't speaking Italian.

It didn't matter to Alexander. He could find out with the rest of the bureau when he called them there.

But as Alex reached into his pocket, now in a vulnerable position, the woman went quiet. She went still. Her crying stopped. Alex only looked up when she spoke up in a low voice.    
“No...” she whispered, reaching behind the door in the darkness. Alex’s eyes snapped open, and by the time he had looked up, all he could see was the door coming right at him. 

He could hardly make a shocked noise before it collided with his head, slamming into him with a boom of noise, causing a deafening ringing noise to slice through his head. With two blows to the skull, he was officially at a disadvantage as the faking woman stood from the bed, skirting around Alex who was stumbling with his hands over his face. He couldn't hear anything.

“ _ You  _ stay here.” she rasped darkly, her silhouette casting a shadow on the only light seeping into the dark cell. Hands on his head, Alex squinted, craning over his shoulder with little pieces of stars floating in his vision. He felt warm blood trickling through the hairs of his eyebrow, but his eyes stayed clear enough to see the woman tower over him in the doorway.

After a moment of staring down on the notorious sniper, she slammed it closed. The next sound that followed was the metallic “ _ shunk”  _ of the lock sliding into place on the vault door. Concealed in complete darkness, the only grip on reality that Alexander had was the echoing bang of the door in the deafening solitude…

And he was alone. 

  
  



	24. A Man of Ethics

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 🚨ATTENTION🚨 I recently made my first Tumblr page dedicated exclusively to The Hamilton Files memes and posts!! If you want to join me for some THF memes or submit some yourself, go find "the-hamilton-files-author" onTumblr!! 💕😄
> 
> as ALWAYS, thank you so much for waiting patiently as we all get our schedules up and running! Next chapter is already being written and in the works, so THANK you for sticking with me, friends, and I hope with all my heart to see you next chapter!! Read on, and see you in the comments section, loves! ❤️❤️

Thomas’s breaths came in heavy pants, sweat trickling down his back and causing his white shirt to stick to the cuts, literally salt in the wound. The invigorating odor of gasoline and tires ignited and amplified his senses, bringing his blood rushing to life through the exhaustion. Now, blood still rushing from the sprint up the stairs, he stood beside the stout figure of Samuel Seabury who was just as tall and mighty as Alexander. He was the British little shit (the two traits unrelated, of course, Thomas thought to himself) who watched the gate, and as a driver so frequently in and out of HQ, Thomas had had his squabbles with him more than many over the years.  


He was conveniently back from a break. Nevertheless, the run up the flights of stairs took Thomas’s breath away as his vision flickered from Seabury to the rest of his search party, in charge of the orders just by nature.

Voices echoed sharply back at him as he supervised the scour of the garage floor, the main and public garage that held the entirety of the bureau’s black SUVs and other trucks for the employees to use. There was no use in checking out the private garages for drivers like Thomas as fingerprint access was required. Next, they were headed to the master electrical room for a search--a room that was particularly easy to tamper with once accessed. The bureau couldn’t risk that.

  
“I was on lunch break, Agent Jefferson.” Seabury repeated again, rubbing his hand over his jaw, massaging it, “Would you like me to say it again?”   
“Alright. We’re all frustrated here, Seabury, so can you do me a favor and listen to what I ask you?” Thomas sighed dryly, looking out across the brightly lit garage as his agents took different sections based on what Thomas had ordered them, each splitting off to search in and around the cars, trucks, and vans, calling to one another if a sector was clear. Thomas would be searching as well if he was on top of his game; he would have taken a sector and scoured through the vehicles and utility rooms with ease. But ever since that moment in the stairwell when Washington had called Thomas’s name and not Alexander’s for his search team, he had a clinging sense of more uneasiness than comfort in his position of assumed authority over the men and women searching with him. Shouts echoing in the garage-- this was a place he usually felt his most confident. Yet he feared he could cause error. 

He could remember the way Alexander craned to watch him go, looking like he was almost about to debate his case for joining Thomas’s group if it wasn't so on-the-spot. It felt like being separated from your crush’s table-group in elementary school and feeling like shit for the rest of the day; that was how petty it seemed. Yet as soon as Thomas had stepped out of Alexander’s sight, he didn’t feel freed. Freed from the weighted, heavy presence that was Alexander Hamilton. 

  
He felt uneasy. He felt… the same way he did when a migraine was coming on now that he thought of it--something he was well familiar with. This inexplicable queasiness and  _ slight  _ anxiety that something was going to happen, not crippling or hindering, just enough to make him minimally uncomfortable so that it was barely noticeable, but unquestionably there. He had felt the uneasiness in his trusty gut when he was running up the stairs, when he was giving orders, when he was talking to Seabury, and he felt it now. 

He detached his tongue from the roof of his mouth, shifting his weight. It wasn’t being separated from Alexander, at least he thought not. It was the fact that they were both in positions of potential danger… and when they were usually in these kinds of searching, manhunt circumstances, they were on a mission. Which meant they were together inevitably and by default. 

Thomas wasn’t used to it, and it made him nervous, the creeping feeling of doubt in his actions throwing him off only half a degree, which in this field was enough to be a death sentence in the wrong situation... 

“I’m sorry, are you listening?” 

Thomas flicked his head back to Seabury like he was trying to twitch off an annoying fly whose presence he had forgotten about, his voice shattering Thomas's scattered thoughts.

“Mm. What was it?”    
“My associate.” Seabury clipped tersely, getting frustrated with Thomas, a man he already didn’t fancy in the first place due to all of his comings and goings from HQ he had to partake in owing to his importance, “She was taking the shift while I retired for my break.”

  
“Do you have a name?” Thomas inquired in a grunting, tired tone, distracted as he reached into his back pocket. His phone had started vibrating irritatingly against his ass, and he wasn’t too concerned since it was obviously not a page from the bureau by the sound of it, just a phone call. Whatever, if anything he could use the opportunity to scribble down in his notes app the name of Seabury’s associate for further questioning. Nobody was exempt from it; it didn’t take a genius to figure it out: that woman had had inside help to escape. Nobody made it past FBI walls without it. Nobody. 

A woman’s voice rang “Clear!” Across the garage, and Thomas nodded at her to take the next segment as he lifted his phone around the front, Seabury looking impatient as ever. 

“Jefferson, I run a tight ship here. I won’t have your agents come and mock my competence, I assure you that.” he enunciated protectively, defensive of his job that he took very seriously--a job that was underappreciated and under respected at the bureau for sure now that everyone was going through this current crisis.

“Well I’m afraid we’re going to be searching until you can assure me that nobody got through the gate, sir.” Thomas stated dryly and blatantly. God, he hated calling other people "sir". 

Seabury watched nosily, eyes darting on Thomas’s screen as the man pulled it out, still scanning the garage and supervising his busy search team, making quite the racket in the place.

Seabury shifted his weight, nose in the air for his next quiet words, “I’ll have you know this sort of thing never happened before Hamilton waltzed out of Madison’s.” his voice was too soft to be anything as presumptuous or rude as a snort, but it was slightly lofty, “I’m sure you’d agree.” 

Without ever having looked at his phone, Thomas pressed the power button with his thumbnail, clicking it so that call was declined and fell silent. That was when he met Seabury’s muddy, self-important eyes that were staring at some point on Thomas’s chest. The taller man took a moment to digest his words. 

  
“You implying something?” he inquired softly, but he could feel the searing twinge of his temper stir in the depths of his body like Cerberus beginning to awaken to Hades’ call. Some of Thomas’s temper waited on him for the signal to attack… almost bated, ready like a hound drooling to tear something apart, but for the most part, the stirring of the beast was something beyond his command. Seabury shifted his weight again, chin still lifted as he stood around five-foot seven even at thirty years old. He proceeded in a strained, almost tight tone. 

“Perhaps that we were all. Better. Off. Thomas. With Agent Hamilton safely behind bar--”   
“Don’t finish that sentence.” Thomas interrupted him with a soft hiss, his voice even more quiet than it had been before. Anyone with working eyes could see the darkness that passed behind Thomas’s. On his small, mousy face like his features had all been compressed inwards, Seabury’s brows furrowed down in offense. 

“Pardon me; I thought you’d be in agreement with that fact. Considering...”   
“Well I’m not.” Thomas established, ignoring the call of one of his colleagues from across the blinding, echoing space. His annoyance was further escalated by the uneven vibration of his phone once again in his hand, someone else calling him. Could anyone get off his ass for ten fucking minutes in this place?

“And I don’t have the time to waste listening to people telling me that my associate should be sitting in a life sentence when he’s risking his damn ass so yours can stay cushy and comfortable.” Samuel’s face fell open, but the driver interrupted him, “Excuse me,” Thomas spoke and turned his glance away from an utterly shocked Samuel Seabury with a silent huff of breath, trying his best to vent the inexplicable frustration without getting hostile. 

If he hadn’t cut it off there, he knew he would’ve said something he’d regret to this man he barely even knew except for annoying exchanges on his way in and out of HQ. It suddenly felt too hot down there, his collar sticking itchily to his throat, squeezing his neck like the wiry muscles of a constrictor. The vibration of his phone against his palm irritated him evermore, the presence of Seabury looking at him like some sort of improper freak wasn’t much of a help either. 

A bead of sweat falling from his hair and dripping down his sensitive temple, that was when Thomas involuntarily understood that his frustration was centered mostly on himself. It was fucking ridiculous. Why the hell did it matter to him to protect Alex’s honor to someone he couldn’t give less shits about? The man was utterly speechless at Thomas’s defensiveness, for the venom in his professional tone. The taller man may have been rolling his eyes, maybe not as he placed a hand up on his hip and rotated his body slowly away from Samuel as if to walk away or at least shield a phone call with his body. 

  
His shoes tapped twice on the slick floor as he pulled his suit jacked away from his body to place his hand on his hip over his belt, tapping it with his finger as he tilted the screen up to his face. Who in the goddamn hell would be calling him when HQ was in lockdown, and they were clearly in a search party?

As soon as his dark eyes flickered over the phone, the caller ID reflecting in the deep pools of black, his stomach lurched sickeningly. 

The phone icon to slide was gently throbbing with light as if casually asking him to pick up. And above… The stupid profile picture of that dork in his braces and rubber bands playing Call of Duty stared back at Thomas as his gut began to tingle. 

He stared at the screen, frozen for a moment. All sound in the echoing, amplified space was muffled, all of his senses zeroed in on the buzzing of his cell, zooming in and blocking out all else with a cold… slow spread of icy adrenaline through his chest, lacing in his veins.

Thomas hadn’t been feeling right since the moment he had trotted up those stairs, watching Alexander as he left. Now, he knew why. Like an ingrained, primal instinct, Thomas sensed something was wrong. He could feel it in his particularly accurate gut-sense that something was horribly awry, and Alex was in trouble. Predictions flashed through his eyes like a mother that had lost her child after turning away for only an instant. 

As he stared at the buzzing device all he could see was that woman… cornering Alexander. All he could see was a bloody hand reaching slowly, weakly across the floor for his shattered phone, trailing the scarlet across the marble floor and splintering glass screen as he picked it up and dialed the first contact on his list: Thomas, leaving sanguine fingerprints on his name. 

His frustration with Seabury vanished. It was like it had never happened, like the man wasn’t standing behind him with a judging look on his arrogant face and wondering what the hell had gotten into Thomas Jefferson. 

Finally, he moved.    
In one swift motion, Thomas swiped his thumb across the screen to answer it and flicked it up to his ear, eyes focusing on some point where the floor met the corner of the white walls, focused on this tiny tire streak someone had left there. His eyes traced the edge of the wall with concentration as he waited for the connection tone. He tapped his finger rapidly against his belt, the tip almost vibrating as he ticked restlessly. Pick up. Just fucking pick up. As soon as the call went through, Thomas pulled the phone away from his ear. 

  
“Shit--” he clipped in surprise as a deafening clang and what sounded like a strangled yell pierced his eardrum, tinny from the speaker of the phone. Thomas took another large step away from Seabury, his heart pounding in his chest now. 

“Alexan--?” Thomas spoke, but was interrupted by another  _ bang.  _ His eyes darted around on nothing, hand falling away from his hip to reach up and cover his other ear, focusing only on the call, “Hello? Allie?” he called, raising his voice. Finally, the clanging stopped, and only echoed as he heard Alexander’s voice. And his tone… Thomas had never been so right. Something was undeniably, unquestionably wrong with the way Alexander gasped for every word, voice high and airy, strained. 

  
His string of loud words were incoherent and shrill, but Thomas caught little pieces of it.    
“ _ God _ **_damnit,_ ** I called you three times, why wouldn’t you answer, fucking God, Thomas--”

  
“Hey, woah, woah, slow the hell down.” Thomas’s brows furrowed down as he started to quickly pace to a quiet area near the wall, looking at the floor as his heart thumped in his ears.    
“I can’t hear a word you’re saying.” Thomas pushed his finger over his ear, zooming in on Alexander’s voice, “D-Did you find her?” he stuttered impatiently, voice clear because there seemed to be some sort of white noise going on in the background. Perhaps Alexander had him on speakerphone. 

Thomas realized that it was jagged breathing close to the speaker, uneven and sucking in with each breath like he was running out of oxygen, and the air rushing by was causing static in the mic.   
“Yes. Yes--no. I don’t think so.” there was a loud bang and what sounded like a muffled cry of frustration less than a cry of pain. 

“Allie?” Thomas shook his head in a twitching motion, scowling at the ground as if it would aid his concentration. He heard a bang and flinched. 

“It’s someone else--”   
“What? Who?”   
There was hardly a pause before Alexander started talking again, rushed and out of breath, “you're a-a-um-um-um.” he stumbled as if he was closing his eyes and trying to remember a word, “doctor, right--whaddya do if there’s blood in your eyes? It’s like in my eyes, and I can’t see, and nobody’s down here.” 

Thomas curled his lip, shaking his head to interrupt, “Down where?” he scoffed, “What’re you talking about, are you okay?” he scowled, flicking his head one more time to clear it, blinking and shifting his weight to calibrate himself into the right mindset, “Alright. Where are you?” Thomas strode right up to the wall for silence and concentration, hanging onto Alex’s every word. Maybe it was the thrill of the mission from earlier combined with this one that was causing his concern, re-igniting his year-old instincts to be at Alexander’s side on these dangerous endeavors. And now he was saying there was blood. How could there be blood? Why? Thomas’s heart wouldn’t stop roaring, throbbing in his ears as he listened to Alex suck in more breath, banging momentarily stopping for him to speak. 

  
“Down.” Alex spoke, “Downstairs, on 88, and I’m in this cell from that bitch, and I can’t see, and I can’t find my lockpick, so I need you to just tell me what to do with this shit in my eyes, goddamnit, I don’t even know where it’s coming from, and it stings--”   
“Alexander.” Thomas interjected softly, and Alex’s voice bulldozed right over his own. 

“Oh fuck. Fuck, there’s a lot more now, augh.” he made a grunting noise as if he was reaching up to touch wherever he was bleeding from. 

“Alexander.” Thomas nearly barked, voice sharp with firmness. It echoed, and Thomas cast a glance around the garage to make sure nobody had been distracted from their search. Either way, there wasn’t a care in his mind other than what he was dealing with right now over the phone. The kid started to gasp faster as if he was running.    
“Don’t fucking yell at me--”

“Alexander, stop.” Thomas curled his lip and snarled, “Pull your shit together, what the hell’s going on with you?” he clipped, “Are you seriously hurt?--”

  
“It’s just  _ in my eyes,  _ Thomas.” Alex made a throaty huff that sounded like a frustrated precursor to a sob, “It’s in my eyes, and I can’t  _ see anything _ .” he did it again. 

That was when Thomas’s entire mind took an unexpected swerve. Alex was acting off, obviously. His injury didn’t seem so pressing that his logic should be swayed, and yet he was clearly in distress and shaken--the most uncharacteristically Alexander Hamilton thing possible. Thomas’s heartbeat slowed, thumping at a less rapid pace, but hammering hard with each throb. The man knew how to deal with people that were having a panic attack, and he had no idea if Alexander was having one. What he did know was that he was having a panic reaction to something, and he wasn’t himself. 

With time frozen, Thomas had two choices. 

  
Option one: be Thomas Jefferson. Shut Alex out, ignore the guilt that came with helping Alex out of one of his insecurities, ignore what he knew would make both of them vulnerable and exposed to tear each other apart as soon as they were at each other’s throats again. He could draw back, recoil from helping Alex because they had already done enough damage to help the other even begin to change. Tell him that if he was so smart, he knew what he was doing, and Thomas would send backup from Lafayette, hang up the phone and tell Alex to page the bureau. He could do what he always did regardless. Turn away, bottle in, ignore the guilt. 

And option two... do what he knew how to do. Help people whether he wanted to or not, help people whether they had hurt him or others, help people whether he hated them 75% of the time. Help people he had spent years unwittingly harming and destroying. If he had been forced to make this kind of decision three weeks ago, Thomas wouldn’t have had a doubt in his mind of his actions, but this time, his decision was subconscious for the opposite. 

This time, it happened quicker than it had the first time when he had made the decision to tell Alexander to stay in his bed after helping him with the migraine, and even quicker than it had the second time when he had told Allie that he was going to help him read. It was like every time, Thomas was getting better at making that decision whether he hated it or not, and it was beginning to frighten him. Naturally, there was a moment of indecision that he knew would always be there like the horrific past that had burned into their identities like the scar of a branding iron. Their pain. But this time, he felt something stir at the sound of Alex’s breathing. He lowered his eyes to the floor, his surroundings fading away as he warped deeply into focus. 

His decision had been made. 

“Alexander.” his voice was low and calming, deep and rumbling in his throat, “I’m going to tell you to do a few things right now, and you’re going to need to do what I say. You don’t have to go anywhere, but do what I tell you to do.” he commanded in the same firm yet soft tone as he was using before, “Alright.”   
Alex still gulped for air and there was an unidentifiable thump from some source. Then there was a rustle of fabric most likely.    
“What the fuck can I possibly do right n--”

“Hey. Hey.” Thomas interrupted, shaking his head as if Alex could see him, “Don’t do that, or nobody’s going anywhere.”   
“Damn right I’m not going anywhere when I’m in this…” Alex paused, almost on the borderline of both laughing and tears as he looked around deliriously, “Cage.” he burst out like he had been holding his breath, scoffing a violent sneer. It was aggressive, defensive. It was an overcorrection--Thomas had seen them before out driving on the road. People make a mistake--try to change lanes too soon--and when they realize something could happen, they swerve so hard in the other direction they nearly get themselves killed in a worse way. Alex was doing it now. 

It was only in that moment that Thomas came to the grinding realization that he had done the exact same thing… it was parallel. His violent, rough hug he had awkwardly given Alex, slamming him against the fridge. It was one and the same, and now Alex was doing it. Spitting flames at him to protect his own ego. 

But the driver couldn’t ignore his words to contemplate that epiphany. His brows pulled down, eyes darkening. 

“Cage?” he nearly whispered, and Alex shuffled, maybe moving around. The man shifted his own weight, regripping his hand on his hip over his belt, “Where are you right now?”   
“I already told you, dipshit.” Alex laughed, but it was obviously not out of hunor, “Down on 88--”

“ _ Hey.”  _ Thomas growled once again, cutting him off, “You need to breathe.” Saying those words made him screw up his eyes in a cringe, tilting his head a bit, but he didn’t even pause, “I know you don’t want to listen to a word I say, but I need to know where you are if you want any help.” 

Thomas had that same feeling like his collar was made of straw, constricting hotly around his throat. It was agony not knowing where his partner was, what he was doing, especially since he was too distraught to give Thomas the information he would usually give in a matter of five second’s exposition. The man closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He needed to calm down. He couldn’t be a hypocrite this time. Not now. 

His next words, though quiet, seemed to echo out of the garage, through the door. Down the stairs, spiralling down the rubber-reeking stairwell for flight after flight, ringing through the hallway and into the fifth cell where Alexander sat, curled against the back right corner that he had tentatively felt his way to before sliding down. 

“Do you want me to help you?”   
  


* * *

**August 31,** ** 2065 **

“Do you want me to help you?”    
Thomas laughed sarcastically at the question, sweat beading on his forehead from the strain as he reached across the top of the shelf, groping around with his palm on the wood around some extra junk and shoeboxes.    
“What’re you gonna do, buddy? Grab a step stool?” Thomas spoke, lips pursed in concentration as his fingertips touched the edge of the smooth box that almost felt like snakeskin as he strained to pull it towards him, inching it across the shelf. Finally, he got it in his hand and slid it in front of him so that he could lift it down in his palm, puffing out a breath of relief. 

“Got it?”   
“Yeah.” Thomas responded, tossing it once before turning around to show it to Randolph.    
“Right one?” he tilted it side-to-side.    
“Yep.”   
“Good.” Thomas affirmed, stepping towards Randolph, who was sitting on the bench in his walk-in closet. They were both in Alexander’s apartment, and the youngest of the trio was upstairs. He’d been in a weird and annoying sort of bad mood all week, even when Thomas had brought him linguini Alfredo from Olive Garden, probably his favorite meal of all time other than lasagna. He was just pissy and responded with one-word sentences like he wanted someone to ask what was wrong but if they did, he’d bite their hand off, so Thomas had backed off to go hang out with Randolph instead. It was something he certainly didn’t mind doing, but he still felt… guilty. Almost. 

It was weird. It was to be expected, obviously, but it was still an off sort of feeling in Thomas’s sensitive gut. Even now, down in Radolph’s bedroom, Thomas couldn’t help but feel off knowing that his best friend wasn’t there. It was like something was missing, like their emotional state was always linked in this irritating way where if Alex was pissy, Thomas was pissy. If Alex was down, Thomas was down. 

But it seemed to work one way and one way only: if Thomas was in a crabby mood, Alexander could go along perfectly happy with nothing more than a fuck-off to Thomas on his way out the door. If Thomas was down, Alexander could effortlessly go clubbing and seemingly not pick up on it or care. Thomas just saw more than Alex did--unless Allie was pretending--and he absorbed those tiny energies from the kid.

He never seemed to do so from Randolph, however. If Randolph was down, Thomas wasn’t; he was the opposite. He was cheering him up; he was just sitting quietly with him, making sure he was content as possible so that it would rub off on the teen. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes it didn’t. Sometimes he didn’t feel like himself when he was pretending to be chill just to make sure Randolph was feeling fine; he felt artificial. If Alex was being a moping brat, he wouldn’t sit with him for as long as the kid needed--he’d smack him over the back of the head and tell him to snap out of it or fess up to what was bothering him so they could chat, cause Thomas was trying to watch Parks and Rec, and Alex’s dark cloud was raining on the vibe. It just wasn’t the same with Randolph. 

Thomas didn’t mind being forced to hold his temper, to be someone else. Even though it didn’t feel like himself when he did it... it was like a heightened form of himself, an alternate form of himself. A more pure form of himself. 

The Brazilian sat now on his phone in a full suit, wavy dark hair combed and gelled neatly on his head and neck. Thomas wondered exactly where he was going, but there was a specific reason he wasn’t going to ask yet. It wasn’t uncommon for any of them to be in suits and to head off to meetings throughout the day, which was probably where the kid was heading now at five in the evening--prime time for conferences in HQ.

Thomas scanned him up and down now that he had knotted his green tie at his throat. Alexander had always worn a similar one, but had switched to traditional black as soon as he noticed Randolph did too. It was like anything Randolph did that was similar to Alex, which was an… odd amount of things, Alex immediately avoided like the plague. 

When Thomas thought about it--when his mind wandered before he slept or drove on long trips with the kids sleeping in the car, Alex in the front and Randolph in the back, separated--they had too many similarities not to be uncanny. Food preferences were basically identical, both with an addiction to all existing forms of pasta even though Randolph was allergic to gluten. He’d still guzzle down gluten-free pasta right beside Alex while Thomas looked on over his salad in mild disgusted disapproval. Their speech was similar as well; they often jinxed each other during those rushed, important conversations on missions, and Alex would just look annoyed that Radnolph had copied his thought process, and the older would purse his lips. Thomas thought it was strange. 

On a side note, another odd similarity that came to his scattered mind, Thomas noticed that they had the weird tendency to yawn at the same exact time (he didn’t really notice why he picked this up. Perhaps because he as a driver had to always stay awake). No, no--not the “yawns are contagious” thing. Literally yawn at the exact same moment in time like they were linked or something, and Thomas knew for a fact they weren’t doing it just to fuck with Thomas’s head. They’d be in totally different rows of the car, half-asleep and unable to see one another, and Thomas would just look in the mirror when Alex yawned only to see that Randy was doing the same thing. 

It seemed like a cruel sort of irony the universe was pulling on them. Those two. Mostly on Alexander. 

Someone the sniper hated so much could be so similar to him and yet so utterly different. Randolph was humble and quiet, two things Alexander was not, but no less charming. Randolph gave off an innocent and kind charm whereas Alexander emanated an eerie, powerful, appealing charisma when he entered a room, the cunning darkness to Randolph’s gentle light. 

Those two were equal opposites almost as much as Thomas and Alexander were too--and together they could conquer the room if only Alexander didn’t despise him. But only Thomas could recognize the little differences that made Alex Alex and Randy Randy. Thomas held onto those distinctions. He ran those distinctions through his mind every time he thought of Randolph with the warmth in his heart and the searing hot desire in his body, knowing that something was happening to him every time he was near that kid. And it was getting more intense. 

Thomas had no choice. He had to make those distinctions or else he’d be forced to ask himself some questions about the true nature of his fondness for the innocent, brown-eyed boy.

Even now in Randy’s closet, he could feel his mind drifting too far, and he pulled it back, irritated. When he got like this--too close to questioning himself and holding himself accountable--he reeled his mind back in. He focused in on the kid in front of him, trying to relax the tension he was holding in his shoulders. His black eyes scanned him up and down, taking in the things that made him who he was. And not Alexander. 

Even when he was wearing a suit, Randolph always wore those bracelets on his wrists anyway, which made Thomas laugh. It was just so Randolph to not notice those little things, and there was no way Thomas was going to stop him now as they slid down and jangled around his tan, lanky forearms. The only part of his outfit that was missing was his shoes, his socked feet resting on the carpet, as he tapped away at his screen, obviously rushing to get some information to someone over text.

“Sorry, one sec…” Randolph typed and clicked send, finally looking up to Thomas with his deep, brown eyes, setting his phone down beside him in a quick motion, making an “oh, right” sound to receive the box Thomas was offering to him. The driver felt that familiar rush and pursed his lips into a smile as he handed it off to Randolph, who dug his fingers up under the lid to lift it off as he placed it in his lap.

“Thank you.” Randolph sang appreciatively, a bit in a rush, pushing aside the wax paper-ish material that surrounded the new dress shoes to reveal them and begin to pull them out, "Oh my God, the Cow of Jesus must have made these kicks..." he whispered in awe at the new shoes. 

As he worked on that, Thomas circled casually back to the shelves, pretending to observe things in there. His eyes focused on a few of the decorations that kind of made Thomas want to organize them, like the analog clock beside the palm-sized glass sculpture of a raven. 

Thomas had the need to get Randolph’s shit together, and he knew it was just another bit of OCD bullshit that came along with the other things like his own handwriting and the obsession with using the correct knife for each food category in the kitchen. Randy--unfortunately for Thomas--had his bedroom decorated like he was a very confused old man with no knowledge of the definition of interior design. Some of it was the most basic sort of contemporary like he was trying to be modern like Thomas and Alex with no clue of what was unique or tasteful, but the rest was classic and old, almost… Victorian style. Embroidered rugs, low lighting and brass door knobs with corinthian handles, outdated objects like shoe horns and cigar ashtrays even though he didn’t smoke. 

While he browsed the shelves, out of the corner of his eye Thomas just watched him as he slowly meandered to his destination with a clearing of his throat and leaned up against his shelves with a quiet thump. He shuffled his back up against it, getting comfortable. Randolph continued to rustle, and subconsciously his hand trailed down and rested on the front pocket of his jacket where the hard box was stowed. He tapped his fingers quietly against it, twitching nervously on the carved indents through the fabric before he realized what he was doing and crossed his arms instead, trying not to draw attention to the hockey puck-sized wooden box in his pocket. 

Thomas Jefferson was not a nervous person. It wasn’t a characteristic trait that he’d ever struggled with; confidence was his savior. Now, of all times was when he needed it most and when it decided to take five. 

He could always tell when his fingers twitched like that. Unfortunately, Alexander knew that too. Perfect. 

Looking up to the ceiling for composure, he took a slow and silent breath, ignoring Randolph moving out of the corner of his eye and shuffling with thumps as he hammered his heel down onto the carpeted ground to get his foot settled in his shoe. Thomas didn’t understand how the kid could be so casual all the time in such a platonic way, even now alone, quite  _ literally  _ in the closet as he got dressed, he was relaxed. 

T homas, on the other hand, was about to force into something he’d been working up to for about three days since the box had arrived in a carefully wrapped package in the mailroom at HQ in his mailbox. Since then it had stared him in the face from his bathroom sink countertop as if daring him to give up now and toss it in the back of his drawer, forget about it like he’d never had the thought in the first place. Each passing day, the thought of it grew larger in his mind until there was hardly any space for anything else, and Alex started noticing. Alex always noticed. 

Thomas couldn’t ignore the thought of the box. He had had much more than the thought of doing this as was evident by the fact that he was standing here now with the physical box in his hand that he had taken the action to acquire. Now it was a physical thing that he had to do, not a thought or a mental scenario to run through when half-asleep in bed or mind-drifting in the shower. Now that it was real, and now that he had this thing, it was like a ticking time bomb in his pocket. There was no out now. No turning back. It was real this time. 

The box in his pocket held more than just an action he had to do. It held a secret. 

Thomas released a long and silent breath through his nose so that it was undetectably as Randy laced up his polished shoes. The box held a secret, one that Thomas had never told anyone in his life. 

Humiliating… would he go that far to describe it? That the infamousThomas Jefferson had never asked anyone out on a date. 

To be even more specific and humiliating, Thomas had never been on a date. Thomas had never had a boyfriend. Now  _ that,  _ that was something he kept to himself with iron walls and barbed wire surrounding it to the fucking rafters. That was something he wouldn’t tell Alexander or anyone else until he took it to the grave with him. Thomas was twenty-three years old and not once had he been out to dinner with another human being in any manner other than platonic. The question is why? 

Thomas had a… rather active sex life, which was obvious to both Randolph and Alexander who had to witness the comings and goings of Thomas’s usuals and new guests, mostly newly eighteen-year-olds. To them it must just look like he would rather wait to settle down, which wasn’t entirely untrue. When he thought about it, he quickly shut it down. 

Dating had just never really worked out in his mind; it had never occurred as something he could want with his busy lifestyle so focused on work and taking care of his boys: Allie and Randy. When he looked at people in relationships, all he could see was problems and commitments that he didn’t have the time or energy to give. 

What Thomas tried never to contemplate was that his impression of having many friends from college was just an illusion. His impression of having any  _ real  _ relationships for his entire life was an illusion. His surface-level friends never meant anything to him, and vice versa he was sure. He had only befriended James to heighten his own status at the bureau, and his family… well that was another story for another time. Always was when someone asked. 

And then there was Alexander. 

Thomas thought of him now, sitting up in his room and doing God knows what by himself. Alexander had walked into his life--quite literally out of nowhere--and as soon as he had seen the kid sitting on top of his car in the training arena, smiling with his mouth full of brackets and rubber bands, he knew that seventeen-year-old was going to be his best friend, and by the way things had worked out from there, Alexander clearly thought the same thing about him too. 

That was what was missing from Thomas’s relationships with anyone else, mutuality--mostly from his end. He wished it could be as simple with Randolph as it had been with Alexander to establish a feeling. Because he knew as soon as he had seen Randolph he had felt something… and whether Randolph had felt the same thing was the question. The doubt.

This was his time to finally get his answer. And he was absolutely fucking himself mentally beforehand and screwing his chances for no damn reason. And so his fingers twitched; and so his heart beat unevenly against his pecs as his time dwindled out, Randy finishing up tying his shoes in Thomas’s silence. But before the older could even begin to gather and rally some words, Randolph did it for him. 

The kid sat up with a huff and a sigh, tossing his hair back since it had fallen in front of his face, and now, it was revealed, a little flushed from the blood-rush. 

“ _ You’re  _ quiet today.” Randolph noted, reaching a tan hand up to run it through his dark, wavy locks. Thomas was snapped from his deep web of thoughts that he had become too tangled in to jump right into a competent conversation. He cleared his throat with a deep rumble, placing on his impeccable calm visage as he leaned back into the shelf. He was older, he reminded himself. Five years older; he could be mature about this. 

“Am I.” Thomas monotone so that it was hardly a question, but Randolph shook his head in an eye-roll sort of way as he leaned back, buttoning the cuffs of his shirt. 

“Kinda.” Randy noted, popping the button through before straightening his sleeve. He glanced up to Thomas with his dark-chocolate eyes before moving to the next one, “You alright, Tommy? You look like you’re gonna ask me to donate a kidney or something.”    
Thomas smirked, huffing a short laugh, “How’d you guess?” 

“I’m a lucky man.”   
“Man.” Thomas laughed shortly under his breath, crossing his arms over his chest. Randy just smiled, and that one dimple indented on his boyish face, popping out. 

“Shut up.” he spoke with this bashful sort of kindness that Allie never had when he and Thomas were having these same sort of bickering conversations they so often shared. With Randy, it was just different. Thomas could be another person; Randy brought that out in him. 

The kid sighed nonchalantly, pushing the open box under the bench with the back of his heel, his new black shoes basically reflecting the ceiling lights in their pristine newness. 

“So. What’s up?” he inquired, placing a hand down on their side of him, bouncing a heel, “Doing anything tonight?” 

Thomas blew air out through his mouth, tilting his head and looking up at the ceiling for a second.    
“Hell if I know. Allie and I’d planned for shooting practice but…” Thomas pursed his lips, and opened his palms for a moment before giving Randy a glance. Clearly, the kid caught his drift. 

“Yeah.” was all he said, and he met Thomas’s eyes for only a split second before lowering them. Once again, even Allie wasn’t there to notice that Randolph was completely calm in his “awkward” movements. Completely controlled. For five seconds, neither said anything… the silence drawing out. 

“Is he okay?” Randolph finally spoke, letting it burst out. Thomas looked at him, cool and collected as Randy went on, 

“Look, I know he doesn’t care, but…” he shook his head, jawline popping as he turned his head away from Thomas, looking out at the door to the closet. Thomas just focused on him. This was typical. They had had this conversation over and over again, and each time it made Thomas a little more angry with Alexander. Just a little added pressure to the crack. The kid rapped his nails against the edge of the bench with a nervous clicking, still bouncing his foot. 

Thomas pursed his lips, “He’s Allie. He’ll be okay.” 

“Yeah, but why is he…” Randolph pressed his lips together,  _ hard,  _ and looked up to the ceiling in a place of frustration and misunderstanding, “Look, I get it. I don’t talk about it a lot cause I don’t want to think it's permanent, but why is he so mad at me all the time, man?” 

“Buddy, if smacking the answer out of him would work, it would’ve worked by now.” Thomas sighed deeply, lifting a hand to rub over the bridge of his nose. Part of him was curious why Randy was bringing up this issue now: the issue as a  _ whole.  _

“I know. I know, but,” Randolph searched for words, obviously having a bit of a cathartic outburst. It had finally reached its breaking point, Thomas assumed. 

“God, it’s like everything I do, he hates me. I do what he does: he hates me, and I change myself for his convenience, and he hates me for trying to be unique or whatever he said last week in Arizona.” Randy waved a hand, blinking with his last words indifferently, because they both knew the instance he was referring to.

Five days ago, on the car ride back from their first mission at that hotel in Phoenix, Allie and Randolph had had a fight in front of Thomas, only verbal, but it felt far worse. Thomas had asked something about Brazilian culture that nobody even remembered, and Randolph had admitted that he didn’t really know anything about his native country or their culture and he felt some sort of… odd detachment. Like a part of him belonged there, but he’d never be able to go back. 

At that, Alexander had snorted. Audibly snorted at Randolph’s words. The awkward, tense silence following the sound didn’t seem to stop the kid’s next words. When Thomas asked him what the fuck he thought was funny, Alexander went on unabashedly about how Randy wasn’t “special” or “unique” for being born in a different country. He may as well have been American anyway, and being half-Brazilian and spending a month of his life there was about equivalent to a vacation.

(“Yeah, and I spent a week in fucking Florence once, you see me crying over my lost heritage, bitch?”). The sheer amount  _ wrong _ , incorrect, and utterly  _ offensive  _ with Alexander’s weak, misinformed arguments was astronomical. But it was only gasoline on the fire. And what did Alexander gain out of it? Nothing.

They’d since had two more local missions and assignments, their performance as a trio impeccable, Alexander and Randolph displaying incredible skill together. And yet. 

The argument stuck out in Thomas’s mind like a sore thumb, nagging at him. He couldn’t forget the way Alex had ruthlessly tore into Randolph as the kid tried to defend himself, both of their words growing harsher and harsher by the moment. Thomas couldn’t forget it. 

And hence, the box in his pocket. Borne from an argument. 

He ran his hand through his hair one more time, trying to find the right words. Or at least seeming to. Randy’s next mumbled words shook him from his thoughts.    
“I just want the charade to be over, Tommy. I’m just tired.” he sighed, and this time, Thomas didn’t just stare. This time, he stood up from his leaned position at the wall, quiet so that Randy wouldn’t notice. 

And this time, he slipped his hands into his pockets, and one of them, the right one, slid around the cool box, the grooves bumping smoothly against his skin, the gnarly, polished wood. And he spoke.

“Look, I’m tired of it too.” he bobbed one knee, jaw tight around his words. Randolph looked up, a hint of surprise in his dark eyes, shaded by his soft brows, yet Thomas went on

“And I’m sick of Allie treating you like his damn doormat when we’re paid to be a team. Sick of it.” Thomas repeated firmly. Randolph met Thomas’s gaze again, dark eyes meeting one another. But Randy’s eyes looked… slightly shocked. And not in a negative manner. Thomas’s heart thumped… thumped against his ribs, hard, steady, deep. 

His lips were numb for his next words, “I think you deserve better.” 

Time stopped between the two friends. One’s heart calling out to the other, and the other… hesitating. Silent. Thomas waited, desperate, keening for a response--any response--from the boy he had quietly pined after in his late suffering hours of the night. And then, the tone behind the Brazilian’s rich eyes shifted. Something moved into place, exposing a vulnerable, soft place inside of him. 

“Thank you.” were his only soft words, and only Randolph. Only Randolph Emerson and Alexander Hamilton could make fake words sound so genuine on their artful tongues. But for Thomas’s For the first time, Thomas felt that returned electricity, flowing right back into him and reflecting in Randolph’s deep eyes. For the  _ very  _ first time, it was both Thomas and Randolph looking for one another, tentatively searching for each other. And it was real. 

That was when the man decided. That was when he had made his decision final. 

Being in the situation now felt different than how he had imagined it halfway off to sleep, or his mind drifting on long drives, both his boys asleep in the back seat. He had imagined it so deliberate, so communicative. Now, it felt helpless, utterly helpless, and Thomas wasn’t all that sure that he liked it. The fluttering feeling in his usually rock-solid gut was throwing off his balance as a whole, and his eyes were drawn from his eyes down to Randolph’s lips. 

They weren’t like Allie’s--curly at the corners like a delicate, cunning cheshire cat; they had softer curves, full and just naturally red. Those were the lips he had dreamed about, waking up panting in a hot sweat as if he was twelve years old. Those were the lips he had fantasized about gently licking into his mouth, pure and soft in taste. Now, they were all he could see, slightly parted, slightly glossy...

That was when Randolph’s phone rang in his suit pocket. 

The sharp buzz cut through the tension like a diamond-edged knife, shattering the moment with one blow, one swipe through the hair-thin veil of time. They both jumped a little on the Victorian bench which creaked under his weight, shocked out of his trance by the sound that signaled their return to reality. 

“Shit.” Randy hissed under his breath, lifting his hands from where they had pressed into the bench so hard he had white indents on his palms that Thomas glimpsed for a moment before Randy hid them, digging his hand in his suit pocket for his phone. Thomas cleared his throat, adding to the shift of mood in the room as he lifted his hand to smooth down his hair awkwardly.    
“Sorry…” Randy grimaced, showing his incredibly straight teeth, obvious that he had worn braces at some point in his lifetime.

Thomas lazily held up a hand, “Take your time.” he mumbled on an exhale, but clearly, Randy didn’t even hear before he had the phone to his ear, pressed up against his jaw. 

“Hey.” the kid spoke in an entirely different tone of voice that Thomas had never heard out of him before. It was so strange and alien, that the man physically blinked, baffled. There was a muffled voice on the other end of the line, and Randy continued after it, shaking his head and shifting the soles of his feet on the floor. The kid was always moving his feet or bouncing a knee, as their driver, Thomas knew this. 

“No, sorry I’m just running five minutes late, could you meet me out by the car instead?... yeah the front. No, that’s on me.” Then he smiled and laughed, “Okay. yeah….Alright bye.” And he pulled the phone down, letting his dark, wavy locks fall in front of his ear people seldom saw once again like the curtains drawing on a performance. Thomas blinked slowly, crossing his arms against his chest once more. He had let his fingers slowly, slowly slip off of the little box, letting it go. Letting it slip away.

Randy rolled his eyes a bit, shaking his head.    
“My meeting.”    
“Meeting.”    
“Yeah.” 

There was a pause, and Thomas began to pick up some… odd sort of vibe in the room. The man couldn’t read microexpressions, read minds like Allie could. But he had a gut sense more acute than that of a primal cat stalking its prey. And something here was wrong. Thomas lifted a finger to flick over the bridge of his nose, scratching. He cleared his throat awkwardly. 

“Ah.” he shifted his weight with a rustle, still not looking at Randy, “What kind of meeting?” It was so monotone that it could hardly be considered a question. For some reason, Thomas pursed his lips awaiting the answer, peering only at the vintage rug on the closet floor. It had red and beige designs, lavish yet thin with wear and weather, obviously an antique. He wasn’t even focusing on it per-se, just pretending that he was so that he had some focal point on this planet while his gut took the reins. 

Randy huffed a laugh as if it were something stupid, embarrassing even. The kid bent forward, tie falling away from his body as he stood, and the cushion below him stayed in the shape of his ass because god knows that was an antique too. Thomas’s eyes followed him silently as he blew air out through his lips.    
“Well. I guess it’s not exactly a meeting.”'

“What is it?” Thomas wanted to laugh casually with those words, but that deep sense of dread was still pooling in his gut, too heavy for him to falsely lighten the mood as he so often did with Randy, keeping things light and happy, always light and happy. The Brazilian’s bracelet slipped down to the ends of his wrists as he pulled open his suit jacket to drop his phone back in the pocket, exposing the soft, dark green satin within, nearly black. Alex’s favorite color. 

Something about that,  _ now  _ of all times, didn’t sit well with Thomas. Maybe his gut was already on edge, maybe so was he, but something about Randolph was… different for a moment. Randy looked up, for the millionth time tossing his glossy waves out of his dark eyes. His red lips moved. 

“It’s, uh--” he sniffed once, looking down to button his suit jacket, “A date. Actually.” 

And just like that, Thomas wished he had never asked. 

Just like that, his heart lurched, plummeting into his stomach and shattering into  _ shards  _ as soon as it hit the bottom. Just like that, Thomas remembered why he never did this. Why he never… got  _ into  _ this life. And as he stood there, heart only half-beating, it felt like someone had kicked him right in the stomach, punched him in the fucking gut. It was… so oddly  _ physical  _ that it hurt his own body. Wind knocked out of him, he inhaled, blinking rapidly, but all he could manage was,

“Oh.” a short little sound, not even a word, not even a proper reaction. 

“Yeah…” Randy gritted his teeth and breathed in, “Old Randy Dandy trying to knock the rust off, so this should be interesting. We’re going to this new Italian place, Terazza or something, and I don’t remember how to eat spaghetti like a human being anymore, thanks to Lex. I’ll wing it.” 

Stop. Thomas just wanted him to  _ stop  _ talking about it, he didn’t want to  _ hear  _ any more information about it whatsoever. It was making him sick, and he felt that customary, all too familiar swell of his own temper beginning to tug at him, beginning to tap at him as if to say “Whenever you need me, I’m waiting. Just for you.” He wanted to shut it out, shut off the conversation instantaneously. Randy huffed a breath, looking at Thomas now as he patted the pants of his suit to check that his wallet was still there, but judging by the sound of the conversation between Randy and his date on the phone, it didn’t sound like the kid would need it. The sense of dread doubled ten-fold. This couldn’t get worse...

“He’s waiting for me with the car, so I think I’d better….” he gestured towards the door with his eyes, and Thomas, still numb, found himself bowled over by yet another devastating wave slamming him onto the rocky bluff. 

He.

Did Randolph just say… he? If anything could make it worse,  _ that  _ was it. Right there. It was happening, and it was happening now. And it was happening to Thomas. Thomas Jefferson who never had a date in his life, who never asked anyone on a date in his entire existence. And he panicked. 

The man sniffed leaning back into the shelves without a sound and flicking his fingers at Randy to dismiss him politely, “Yeah. Go ahead; I don’t wanna keep you.” The man spoke in a mock sort of nonchalance. In his negligence, in his panic, he let Randy go. That was his form of flailing, of falling, of losing control of himself that he never experienced before. With a last glance, a nervous crossing-of-the-fingers from Randy, Thomas watched him straighten his shoulders and turn out of the closet. 

He let Randy go. 

He wasn’t aware of how long he had stood there, eyes focused on the spot where Randy used to be. The empty, ornate bench with the golden feet of a lion for the legs, the corinthian designs up the sides to the embroidered cushion of red and gold stitches, hand upholstered. Just as the place where Randy should be was empty, so was Thomas’s gaze. So was his gutted insides that were too trapped in shock, frozen in time to even hurt yet, just… stuck in the middle, waiting to come out on the other side. 

He’d never remember how long he had stood there, leaned his back up against the wood. He was in his suit, one he had changed into after work was done, changed into just for Randolph to ask him out. Ask him out to that exact new Italian restaurant since he knew Randy loved pasta, Terraza. He had made a reservation on the rooftop seating area, and all Thomas could think of was the emptiness. How there were going to be two empty seats there tonight, overlooking the Potomac. Empty chairs at an empty table. 

After heaven only knows how long, Thomas stood. And he moved. 

His mind was elsewhere, still struggling to find acceptance as he was drawn involuntarily, completely by force out of the closet, through Randolph’s bedroom decorated like the confused kid he absolutely was, the canopy bed with the dark green drapes, nearly black as if he was too modest to even have someone accidentally see him shirtless for a nap. 

He was drawn out through the living room that Alex and Randy fought over decorating constantly, and around the corner to where the deep redwood stairs spiraled upwards towards the master suite: Alexander’s suite. 

His slick, expensive shoes tapped up the stairs one by one, his large hand ghosting over the railing as he numbly proceeded, pulled by some external force that tugged him. Lured him towards that room. 

The entire apartment as a whole, as he walked up the stairs, reminded him of something James had taught him about not too long ago. Liminal spaces. The places dejavu came from, the places you know you have been before but can’t pinpoint it on any map. Those empty, lonely places where people have forgotten something, left things, stepped through as nothing more than a threshold. And Thomas was trapped, looking over the odd, empty… silent place as he ascended above it, up towards the doorway. The odd, Victorian and contemporary, scattered liminal space, numb, trapped. Stuck in the timelessness of the threshold of the place between a dream and a nightmare. 

But this time, he was the thing someone had forgotten. 

Before he was aware of his own whereabouts, he had two knuckles facing Alex’s door, and he tapped twice. It was a hollow sound, a soft sound. It was, once again, empty. Allie’s apartment was more echoey than it seemed like it should be, and even that tapping reflected back into Thomas’s head, fading away. 

From inside the room, there was a vague sound, perhaps a shuffle or a deep inhale; it was indistinguishable either way. Thomas pinned down the heel of his shoe to the ground with a toe, slipping them off carelessly in front of the door.

“Fuck off, Emerson; I said you couldn’t use it.” a voice called in an irritated monotone from within, muffled. Thomas pursed his lips weakly, still numbed as he placed his large hand on the cool metal of the knob, twisting and pushing in. Immediately, he was shocked by the darkness. There were no lights on in the room, not even enough to see the firearms that always lined the walls with elegant organization, the most ornate of stands to hold them. Alexander’s prized possessions, an obsession and a warning. Thomas didn’t even say a word as he shut the door behind him with a click, eyes still not adjusting to the darkness. 

There was another rustle; obviously, Alexander was in bed and was sitting up. There was a pause.    
“Thomas?” 

Thomas didn’t respond, just sighed and walked towards the bed accidentally kicking something that felt like a cardboard box, probably the remains of what used to hold Cheez-ITs. 

“Fucking shi--” Thomas clipped, stumbling a bit, but catching himself with a palm sinking into the corner of the mattress. He panted a breath, unexpectedly shocked out of his trance, “Is thi--are these Cheez-ITs?” he stepped around them, scowling, “You live in a pigsty.” 

Allie scoffed, “Yeah, well jokes on you, fucker, I don’t even know what a pigseye is.” his voice had a sharp edge to it, one that could slice through Thomas’s skin, especially now, but something about hearing his voice did the exact opposite. 

“Sty _.”  _ Thomas grumbled unenthusiastically, “Forget it.” He climbed up onto the bed, the entire mattress bending under his weight. Alexander moved around a bit, but Thomas still couldn’t see him. It was just the black, the black room, the black comforter, the black walls, the black guns. Thomas would say it was empty. Like the bench where Randy should be or the sound of his knock on the door, but it wasn’t. It wasn’t empty in here, not when it was like this. Not when it was the two of them. 

“Get out of my bed, Thomas, you’re gonna break it.” Alexander grumbled rudely as he slid back down under the covers and rolled on his hip so that he wasn’t facing Thomas.   
“If half the universe hasn’t broken your bed, Allie, I won’t. Move.” he tossed his head, as Alex could clearly see with his well-adjusted eyes. 

“You can’t fucking  _ commandeer  _ **_my_ ** bed, asshole.”    
“Who hasn’t?” Thomas mumbled.    
“Bitch.” Allie sneered in offense.    
“Slut.” 

“Gay.”    
“Gayer.”   
“Gayest.” 

Even as they bickered as normally as ever, something was just different. It was in Alex’s tone; it was clear as a red thumbtack on an empty, white wall. Unavoidable, the bull in the china closet. Thomas scooted himself to the middle of the bed, shuffling his back against the soft, cushioned headboard so that he was sitting up right next to a laying Alex, or at least he thought he was; it was indistinguishable in the darkness. 

After the time they’d known each other which felt like years, Alex was more than familiar with Thomas coming into his room and bothering him, but Thomas was far more familiar with the opposite. It was several times a day that Alex would turn up in Thomas’s kitchen because he had a key to his apartment and just talk and talk and talk. He would bring puzzles with him, his laptop for work reports, anything he could get his hands on to solve long after he got bored of Rubik’s cubes, which he learned to operate with the dexterity of all his fingers at once and produce the most irritating clicking.

Thomas could see the calculations, the deep understanding of patterns and occurrences flashing behind those golden-hazel eyes, wheels turning on greased gears inside his head. No matter the puzzles he brought, the cards were always his weapon; those stained, cream-colored cards. All Thomas remembered hearing was the ripping velcro-like sound of cards being shuffled behind him as Alex practiced, Thomas at the oven and Alex at the island counter.

It had been a week since they had done that, since Alex had come bouncing unannounced into Thomas’s apartment, cards in hand, and Thomas’s only words of greeting were, “Shoes.” Thomas wouldn’t admit it on his deathbed, but his apartment was emptier without Alexander’s presence filling its walls the past week. Cheerless. And he missed him. 

Thomas had had Randy over as much as ever, just the two of them watching movies, Randolph’s legs across Thomas’s lap as the kid laid down and Thomas gave him three quarters of the couch to do so. They could munch on junk and roast the horror movie characters, but without Alex there, it didn’t even feel real in his mind. The memory of those stolen moments with Randolph were bland because Alexander wasn’t there; he was up here in his cage, brooding with something only he knew and felt.

Now, Thomas released a deep,  _ deep  _ long sigh. Head leaned up against the backboard of the bed, spine pressed into upright pillows, it took ten straight seconds for the oxygen to take its time seeping out of his lungs until he was completely drained. Completely deflated. 

That was when Thomas became aware of the uncomfortable sensation, something digging into his thigh. At first, he thought he’d sat on some shit that was always lying around in Alexander’s bed because he was an absolute slob. He shifted his ass with a look of contempt on his unseen face as he put his hand on his thigh and felt…

The box.    
And for a moment, his breath caught in complete silence in his chest, a little rush of dread flushing through his body. He had completely forgotten. 

And any numbness that had seeped away when he was talking to Alexander returned from it’s dormancy, from its metamorphosis into something else. Regret. Slowly, he let his fingers slip away from over his pocket where the box lay and fall down unceremoniously onto the sheets. And he was quiet. 

Why would anyone want to feel this way? Why?

What was the purpose?

He was too late. Too late for Randolph, too late for any of this. He had wasted that time on medical school, on training, on pushing everyone too far away to come close enough that he would want to ask them for a date. He was too late. 

Without even thinking about it, his hand that was laying in the sheets found Alexander’s heap of hair on top of the pillow, spilling over it and to the bed. Mindless, he started to fiddle with it, just finding the closest knot and carefully breaking it up so that it was smooth again. 

He worked through Allie’s hair, moving closer to his scalp to untangling them there with his dextrous, careful fingers. As he did so, his mind drifted, thinking about Randolph getting in a car with a man. Getting flowers. Was that something people did on date? Not like the jewelry Thomas was going to give Randy: a box made of Pau Brazilwood, Brazil’s national tree, custom carved with a macaw spreading its wings over the  Ipê-amarelo flower. Wouldn’t a jade bracelet made in historical Bahia be more of a conversation piece, glittering around Randolph’s wrist with his other bracelet collection than some stupid dying flowers? 

Maybe Thomas didn’t know how to do this. He was used to knowing how to do everything. 

He wouldn’t let this happen to him again. Drive the car, take care of the boys, save lives. That was what he knew, not…  _ this.  _ And he would never do it again, he swore to himself on pain of death. Stick to what you’re good at, he thought. 

He hadn’t even realized that Allie had shifted his angle so that his head was leaning up against the side of Thomas's upper thigh, giving him the best angle to sift his fingers through it. Thomas could tell Alex was wearing a sweatshirt since he could feel his hoodie beneath his head, but he kept the mindless, thoughtless motion going as this time… he stared down on Alexander. 

A faint outline in the dark, he had been here all day. Cooped up, locked up, shutting himself in for God knows why. Thomas could only guess the reason Alexander would be… And then it clicked. 

How could it be so simple? 

Slowly, carefully, he stopped. His hand halted in Allie’s hair, strands curled and buried his knuckles. Something inside of him shifted as everything slid neatly into place. In the silence of nothing but the fan blades rotating above, Thomas spoke so quietly it was nearly a whisper. 

“You knew.” he stared straight ahead, letting out his breath slow as he closed his eyes, “About Randy’s date. Didn’t you.” 

There was a long silence where Alexander didn’t even seem to breathe. Thomas was too out of sorts to feel the tension that Alexander did, but it was undeniably there, building up the longer Alex waited to give his response. Thomas didn’t want anything eloquent, just an answer, but the teenager could tell from his tone that Thomas already knew. 

“Yeah.” he whispered, not weakly, just… tiredly, like surrendering his knowledge took everything out of him. He sounded so small. 

After another long silence of Thomas’s acceptance… of this revelation of what had been bothering Alexander, he gradually began to finger-brush his hair once more. In the darkness, in the quiet cage of Alex’s room, the two boys sat together under the twirling fan, engulfed in the four walls far underground. For the first time in a week, it felt like the rift between them was beginning to heal… And when Alexander fell asleep, Thomas too laid down next to his best friends, their sides barely touching. Unwittingly, their deep breathing matched one another’s as the driver and the sniper drifted off into an unrestful sleep, the jewelry box the only thing between them. 

Neither of them would ever know how an hour earlier, Randolph Emerson had strolled out of his bedroom with a deep sigh and a roll of his eyes up into his head, exasperated. 

Neither of them would know how he had breezed leisurely, kingly through his living room that he despised for the distasteful mix of contemporary with his classic Victorian design that deserved its own display; they were antiques that were worthy of museums, let alone Alexander’s unkempt apartment. Last night he had considered whether it would be more worth it to send them back to his house when the weather was less humid, but he had dropped it. Not the irritation, however. 

He was sensible. He was composed, charming, audacious simultaneously. 

But the degree to which Alexander’s meddling was pissing him off the past two days was getting fucking exhausting, and the way the kid read his micros as if Randy wasn’t reading them right back. God, it was irritating, but nothing too much more. Randolph knew better than anyone how to distinguish a problem from an irritation, and Alex was the latter. Alexander was an inconvenience to be dealt with; he could say that much as he fetched his costly black fedora from the mudroom, handmade in Florence by a man his father knew well--a family friend.

He tucked it under his arm so he could lift down his black gloves and pull them over his fingers with a creak of rich leather, wiggling them into the finger holes as he tugged. He’d never been one for gloves in the past, due to the fact that his prized brass knuckles never sat well over gloves. As he stepped out of the mudroom, pulling on gloves and striding through the door, he puffed a tired sigh. Alexander had his silly pistol, Randolph had the knuckles. Knuckles didn’t run out of ammo. 

There was hope in his step as he strode out, mind wandering. He had far better manners than to wear a hat indoors, so he held it with him, tucked at his hip as he exited the apartment Alexander had cluttered with his own shit. 

He strolled to the elevator with his usual, confident step, without his hands tucked in his pockets nervously like they would be if Alexander was around, and God forbid if Thomas was around. Threatened with another eye-roll, he just kept walking to stave it off. Acting like a lamb to be pampered for that man was almost as irritating and inconvenient as anything else, but Randolph could cope. After all, it was better than the alternative. Always better than the alternative.

He selected the floor of his need, folding his hands in front of his body. The original idea drawn up was to be sweet on Alexander rather than Thomas, gain his favor. The thought of it disgusted him to such a degree, he had remembered being almost  _ cheerful  _ when he discovered the boy could read faces just as he could-- much to the dismay of his father. To Randolph, that curse was a blessing that he welcomed, but Alexander wasn’t done making Randolph’s life easier, no. 

He had to go and serve it to Randolph on a vintage silver platter by showing  _ just  _ how close to Thomas he was with every little movement, every little expression that crossed his ridiculously readable face. Randolph didn’t even need Alexander’s favor after all, a relief off his shoulders. Thomas could be the ventriloquist. Thomas could be the blamed. And how fitting too? 

Randolph’s content demeanor was completely unbreakable, especially on a night such as this. But the thought of his father… 

The thought interrupted his well-organized state of mind, slicing through it like the hull of a steamship to an ocean swell. Another inconvenience. He let out a deep breath, lifting his eyes to the elevator floors ticking up, up, until he would be above ground, in the pedestrian warehouse. Leather-gloved hands folded one over the other in front of him, he tapped his finger on the back of his hand. Pap, pap, pap. 

For the first time in weeks, Randolph was conflicted. And once again, the only conflict in his life was over the pride of his father. Of course it was. He shrugged his shoulders back, lifting his chin with a little clear of his throat, his dimple popping as he pursed his lips for it. 

His father was a distinguished man of few words, Randolph knew, and yet hw always said the same thing to him in the rare instances he received praise, “Smart boy, Randolph. Smart boy.” The Brazilian wouldn’t admit it to anyone, let alone himself, but in his confident, charismatic gut… he  _ relished  _ in hearing the rare praise from his father who often focused on… other things, things he considered more important than the uprising of his son. 

Now more than ever, the praise was higher than it had been in his life, not only directly to his son, but more importantly--in Randolph’s eyes--to the rest of their organization. Now that… _ that  _ was where the praise translated into something worthwhile, giving him an advantage in this game of chess. The high words went to the important connections, the important families that had questioned why the boy had never been given an FBI assignment before now, and had begun to talk amongst themselves when he passed with his following of well-renowned, hand-picked inner circle-- surface-level friends, of course. But  _ important  _ ones. 

And that was--he knew--what set Randolph apart from his unwitting personality-doppelganger: Alexander Hamilton. Even the name in his head made Randolph want to curl his lip, but he calmly refrained, reminding himself of his unquestionable superiority to the rat. The boy from Harlem trusted no one, let no one close. He charmed the powerful, manipulated them, twisted them around his finger, but establishing connections? Making powerful allies? 

Randolph couldn’t help the small huff of laughter as he ducked his head down, dipping it to place his hat atop his head, his waves of glossy brown hair spilled halfway down his neck. Yeah. Alex didn’t have a clue, but he did have the fatal flaw: thinking he did. 

Connections, Randolph knew, was the key to all success. Connections, he had been taught, make a man or break a man. People--friends--were but a ladder to achieve one’s ends. And Randolph knew his ends as he stepped out of the elevator and strolled out of the echoey warehouse into the rushing white noise of the rainy night, a summer deluge from a tropical storm at the coast. 

Beneath the light and the overhang of the building, he awaited the car which was probably backed up with the amount of people coming out of HQ for the night. He leaned casually up against the wall outside, breathing in the smell of the rain on the warm, summer pavement. There really was nothing like summer in DC. 

Businesslike, he trapped his phone between his shoulder and his ear, craning as he thumbed a cigar out of the inside of his suit jacket, holding it open with one gloved hand to rummage for his lighter his grandfather had gifted to him when he was but a boy. Dial tone purring, he flicked open the cover, a seal of two snakes intertwining with one another decorated the side, each snake eating the tail of the other. 

The dial tone cut off early as someone answered the phone on the first ring, as Randolph always expected his friends to do. He pressed his ear closer to the phone as he clicked his lighter with a burst of sparks in the rainy night, and brought it to the lip of his smoke, rotating it around the end of his cigar to light it. The embers glowed red, smoking slightly already. 

“Randolph?” one of his friends spoke through the clear connection, and Randolph sighed, tucked his lighter carefully back inside his open suit. In the background of the call, he could hear the familiar chatter of an evening soiree, the clack of billiard balls along with a chorus of “ahh”s to follow, all accompanied by music. Oh, did Randolph feel cheated to be away from it, even by his own willing request.

“Speaking.” Randolph confirmed, pushing the lighter carefully down with one gloved finger so it was hidden away safely. On the other end, there was a light huff of mildly surprised laughter, and he could almost  _ hear  _ the smirk. 

“Huh. Fancy hearing from you.” he laughed, “Been a while.” his friend noted, and there was a pause as Randy lifted the cigar to his dak lips, sensing his friend was going to continue “...we were beginning to wonder if you were coming back.” 

Immediately, Randolph paused before touching the butt end to his mouth. And then he laughed lightly, a chuckle.

“No. Not yet.” he smiled, dimpled showing in amusement. He held the cigar between his teeth, speaking around it as the tip smoked, “I’ve got time on my hands, Rico, and hell if I’m gonna waste it by getting the job done quickly.” The kid took his thick cigar between thumb and forefinger to take the first draw and slowly, gently puff, the smoke standing white against the black of the night. He lifted it away from his lips,

“Sights to see,  _ mio amico _ .”    
“Ah.” his friend noted. He took another quick puff, tasting it while he casually leaned against the wall, hat shading his face from the stark light. 

“So what can I do for ya, Fangsy?” 

Randolph smirked around his cigar at the word. He had earned the nickname a long time ago as a young boy, fascinated with snakes and serpents of legend such as the Basilisk of ancient European lore and the Leviathan. He had been saddled with Fangsy--as in fangs--as his trademark names ever since, and how could he avoid it with all of the snakes he owned? He’d tried to shake the childish name to no avail so far, and there was no end in sight; his circle had adopted it. 

Randy took a deep draw of the cigar with hollowed cheeks and closed eyes, making his friend wait as the smoke filled his mouth. They knew better than to rush him. They knew to let Randolph take his time, move slowly as he often did not out of hesitancy, but out of entitlement to that leisure. He looked out towards the night, focusing as he blew the smoke softly, gradually letting it all spill out over the course of ten seconds. 

“A favor, Fucito.” he finally spoke, observing his residue dissipating into the night. Another clack of the billiards. Another round of laughter.

“Anything.” the voice on the other end responded loyally, “ _ Dici tu la parola, _ Fangsy. ” Randy could almost  _ hear  _ him blinking his eyes, awaiting Randolph’s orders. Respect was a simple thing, the boy thought. It was either taken or given; there was no inbetween. 

“Mm. Is Giovini with you?” There was a rustle through the phone, and Randolph took yet another puff, relishing in the taste. His taste in cigars took after his father and grandfather: expensive. 

“Yes, he’s with me. We’re in the lounge. The families are having whiskeys and enjoying the billiards.” 

“Good.” Randolph flicked some ash off his smoke, the charred bits falling to the ground, “Keep it that way, and if my father is around, tell him I am unwell and am resting in Headquarters. Keeping an eye on the Hamilton boy.” There was a pause at the other end of the line, obviously a man weighing whether he had the right to ask Randolph or not, but the boy thought he should humor his companion, continue to build that trust. 

Rico’s family was important, but not nearly as important as his own. 

“I’m having a night on the town, my friend _.”  _ he explained once again, lips around his cigar that bobbed and traced the air with a smoking tip, “As much as I miss the flirtations of our court, I’ve found a toy to play with here. Shocking.” he humphed. 

Rico was obviously surprised by Randolph giving details, and he warmed up to him.    
“Shit. The Jefferson boy?” 

“No. God no.” Randolph sighed, nearly rolling his eyes up into his head as he found himself needing a short puff that he didn’t even blow out, just spoke and let it fall out of his mouth and nose, “Honestly, I have never seen a man act so much like his mom picks his outfits for his dates.” he chuckled, “Not like he’s going on one anytime soon…” he trailed, calmly watching headlights slice through the rain, the humming noise of a car engine approaching through the noisiness of the downpour.

Randolph squinted, catching a glimpse of the black sheen of what he knew to be a Rolls Royce. He smirked, taking one last draw, the tobacco crackling and the end ashes glowing bright red in the night.

“Ride’s here.” he noted, flicking his cigar onto the pavement at his feet. He looked down to snuff it out with the sole of his leather shoe, and he crushed its embers. He twisted, and it died there beneath Randolph’s weight with a steaming hiss.

“Enjoy your party, Fucito. And make sure Ronny feeds my girls their dinners." he requested, a little rush of fondness and ache in his chest upon thinking of his venomous snake collection, vastly misunderstood creatures. The prize of which was his mangrove pit viper, Ossidiana, a pitch black beauty. God, did he miss her. Being away from her was like a consistent throb in his heart. Ossidiana was quite the conversation piece at gatherings, and his room dedicated to his dangerous collection was as well. 

Not to mention that it was basically a low-lit, audaciously lavish sex-pit. Thinking of that high, rich life now made him huff a short laugh of remembrance; he would go in there with the best-looking girl or guy of the night, ah honor to them, and let them ogle at his beauties for a little while. 

Anyone knew that being invited to see Randolph's prizes was a rare endeavor, and should not be taken casually. Randolph liked four of five people at once--himself the ringleader, of course--and engage in a night's activity of formal, sophisticated talk, casual sex, and fraternizing with the other families. His father knew of this little lounge for Randolph's inner circle by day and his exclusive yet not-established sex club by night, and he encouraged it. Making connections was the key to the mingling of distinguished young adults. 

Randolph had left Ronny Giovini in charge of taking care of his reptiles, and since he had the keys to the lounge, he was most likely the one kissing the knuckles of the young members of the organization at the dinner parties if they looked lavish enough, inviting them formally to sit in the lounge with cocktails to relax and loosen their corsets after a night of social engagement.

"Your girls look as gorgeous as ever." Rico spoke, referring to Randolph's snakes, snapping him back into their conversation, "And you know there’s no life to the soirees without our Wolf of Wall Street.” 

Randolph snickered at the flattery, a little too old for it at this point, but he could let it slide. A little flattery from inferiors never hurt anyone. And he did miss the nightly soirees, the low light and the classy silverware, the drinks and civilized discussion over smokes or poker. The flirtations were always Randolph's specialty, obviously. Whoever he wanted in the room, he could have for as many nights as was his pleasure. 

Coming back to the present, he breathed in.

“I’m sure. It won’t be long until the street rat meets his nice, long slumber and I can come enjoy a smoke with my boys.” he sighed indifferently, reaching into his jacket this time to click open a metal tube of altoids with a thumbnail and pop one into his mouth, ridding it of the taste of smoke, more for his date and not himself. He enjoyed it.

“I’ll send my regards to my family. And the Giovinis will be pleased to hear from you as well.”    
“Do that. And tell my girls that daddy misses them,” Randolph finished on a final note about his venomous friends, “ _ Addio per ora.”  _

He spoke with perfect inflection as he lowered the phone from his ear and pressed the hangup icon with his leather finger. In a swift yet controlled motion, he tucked his phone into the pocket of his pants, rolled his shoulders back, and breathed in so that it looked like he was sort of holding his breath. He smiled and shoved both hands into his pockets. In an instant, he had snapped back into his fake identity, and it was utterly… frighteningly effortless. Errorless. Immaculate. 

Light, camera, action, he thought. 

With a crunch, the car rolled up in front of him in the rain, not a single squeak of the brakes as it halted, headlights illuminating the white droplets pelting down from the sky. Engine still humming, Randolph heard the click of a door opening even though the passenger one was covered by the overhang, and wet footsteps followed on the pavement. 

He splayed an awkward smile on his face as a man in a trench coat to protect from the rain, holding a black umbrella over his head to shield himself came into view around the hood of the car. His feet crunched on the soaked, puddled ground as he rounded it gracefully, and for the first time, Randolph caught sight of what he was holding. 

The man’s long blonde hair was in a neat fishtail braid over his shoulder, and he stepped over to Randolph, who stepped back awkwardly to make space for him under the thin overhang. His eyes were focused on the ground, but he made sure to flick them up to sight the single white rose he was carrying delicately between two fingers. Randolph knew the symbolism a white rose would represent. Innocence. Purity. In this case, it should represent irony. 

With a shuffle of feet, the two were finally under the shelter together, just Randolph facing his date for the night. Gilbert Lafayette. The Head of Agents. 

For a moment they were silent, staring at each other. Randolph could feel Lafayette’s gaze sweeping over his face--his dimple, his gorgeous dark eyes and full lips--and the teen could read the man’s as well as anyone else’s. He was confident, it was obvious in the relaxedness of his jaw and shoulders. But he was hopeful. At last, Lafayette spoke in his deep, rolling French accent.    
“ _ Bonjour.”  _ he grinned at Randy after the simple word, who looked down to hide a smile.    
“Hey.” 

Randy cleared his throat as if trying to compose himself and looked back up at Lafayette. The man was gorgeous in the night… he had such an angular, elegant face. Randy shook his head a bit, gaze brushing over his lips, “You didn’t have to get out.” he reminded politely to start the conversation. But the man just looked down on him, still holding the umbrella though they were sheltered. 

Lafayette smiled still as he twitched his brows down, amused in a flirtatious way, “And why not?”    
“Well.” Randy gestured with his eyes, “It’s pouring.” Lafayette chuckled, meeting Randolph’s eyes. 

“Well.” he copied Randolph’s tone and accent, making the boy grin again, “I have something to give you. And not over the center console of my car.” he elegantly, expertly extended the rose to Randolph, who knew the cue to make himself physically blush, a skill that he had to admit had taken rather a long time to perfect. For a few moments, he just looked at it as if unsure of what to do, and Lafayette’s lips twitched into a smirk, 

“Mind the thorns. They come at the price of the beauty.” 

Randolph let out a breathy laugh at his cleverness, wondering if he meant something by that, and reached for the rose. For an instant, their fingers touched, and even through the glove, the chemistry was there. It was present as an electric shock surging through their bodies, spreading rapidly to every cell. It stole the breath from Randy’s chest for a shocking moment. His own smile twitched. 

“It’s beautiful.” 

Lafayette just shook his own head dismissively, letting go of the rose for Randolph to take. The boy he thought was pure. 

“I thought so. But next to you, it may as well be a weed.” Randolph looked into Lafayette’s eyes for a moment more, the deep, striking blue of them. When the man offered his large, bare hand to escort Randolph to the car, he thought, this is a man that knew how to treat royalty as it should be treated. This was not the same sort of sophisticated, strategic mingling of families at the parties he was used to, the endless flirtations as if in King Henry VIII’s court. It was strictly personal, and… rather different. 

With a smirk, he placed his gloved hand in Lafayette’s, the man who hadn’t a clue who he was. Kingly, the Head of Agents turned, leading Randolph towards the car in the rain. On the outside, he feigned flattery, but he was chuckling a sigh inside his true self that was puppeteering this nervous boy that Lafayette had taken a fancy to. 

Oh, the hubris of man, the boy thought. 

What a silly thing to be utterly oblivious of. 

* * *

“Do you want me to help you?” 

Coming back from a memory, Alexander’s head shot up jarringly, ears tuning into the present that he was snapped back into. 

He hitched a sharp breath, remembering where he was, the past rushing away around his head so rapidly it was dizzying. 

He shifted his feet closer to his body, compressing as the rubber soles squeaked on the floor.

There was a clang from somewhere above him, sharp and metallic, and Alexander swallowed, throat dry as the words sounded, tinny and breaking up a bit. Probably from the interfering wifi systems or the depth of the floor he was on or the walls of the cell... Whatever it was, Thomas’s deep rumble was high and sharp, and it wasn’t helping his jarred condition. And they stayed… the words stayed, echoing in his ears and through the darkness that seeped into his skull and mind from the stifling blackness of the cell around him. 

He remembered. And he remembered it  _ vividly, _ twenty-four hours a day in darkness, unable to move or raise his head to peer at the random noises above him that could have been anything, the creaks and clunks of the building far above his head, settling. Shifting. 

It flashed before his eyes, blinding him, and he grimaced. 

He remembered the pressure of the muzzle over his face and cheekbones that gave him headaches, the chain holding it firmly to the collar that bound him to the chair like an animal. The blinding white of the rec room. Needles. Brown fluid. It was all a bad dream. 

Alex’s breaths were unsteady, on the verge of cracking like brittle leather with each one that he sucked in. Shaking fingers curled around his phone, he grasped it, back pressed against the corner of the room. He was vaguely aware of his spine digging into the frigid metal of the vault as he tried to breathe into the phone mic. He had been trying to breathe for ten minutes in the pitch darkness of what might as well have been the void of death itself, roiling around him. 

_ “Do you want me to help you…?”  _

Thomas’s words seemed to dance around his head, and Alex squeezed his stinging eyes shut, a sharp pain lancing through his entire skull it felt like from the blood. It was warm on his forehead, trickling through his eyebrow and slicking it against his skin. Eye still shut, a pearling teardrop of pure blood rolled down from his eye, moving slower than saltwater down his cheek. God, it stung more than he thought possible, and he was too scared of the consequences to touch it and find out what it would do. His head was  _ pounding  _ like it was swelling with each throb, painful enough to burst, and he could see his veins in his eyes every time his heart thumped. 

Alexander didn’t respond to Thomas’s words, just swallowed again, trying to produce some spit, and shuffled his legs up closer to himself, pressing deeper into the wall, making himself as compact as physically possible, seated and curling in the corner. 

“Allie?” Thomas spoke again, “You there?” 

Alex’s fingers fumbled on his phone, slipping with blood and shaking, so he squeezed them around the device, humiliated with his own behavior. He wanted to punch himself in the face as hard as he fucking could to snap out of it, snap  _ out  _ of it like he snapped ouf of every other emotion that tried to grip him, but... he couldn’t  _ do  _ it. And that was what terrified him. 

“Yeah--yeah I’m here, just--” He cut himself off, blinking again and turning his face up to the ceiling when he heard a noise like a footstep, and it made his heart leap in his chest with a spurt of adrenaline. 

“Alexander. Answer me right now.” Thomas dictated clearly, “Do. You. Need. Help?”

The question burned Alexander. And naturally… the teenager recoiled from the flame and into his safe hiding corner. The question wasn’t making him feel unsafe; it wasn’t making him feel trapped like it should down here in this personalized hell designed just for him. No. The fact that it was the thread of silver hope in the dark room made him… sick. And it finally occurred to him, clear as day. All other sound fell away.

Thomas’s voice was no help to him, not here.

Instead, it made him repulsed, furious to the point of pure loathing. Now, in this vault, in the solitude with nothing other than Thomas’s invisible voice, he felt nothing but the… burning, righteous desire for vengeance, for penance. Who... the hell did Thomas think he was? 

Alex bit the inside of his cheek, increasing the pressure until it  _ hurt,  _ and he tasted blood. 

Penance was in order. It always had been. 

Thomas had some fucking gut to be calling himself Alexander’s savior now. Alex shook with every breath, afraid and livid. He had some fucking gut, because where the hell was he for over a year when Alex was languishing in his own Thomas-inflicted solitude? His own, personally designed, Thomas-induced  _ hell?  _

Where the fuck was Thomas then, and now he had the audacity to be the hand extending towards Alexander to help. To…  _ ask  _ if Alexander  _ wanted  _ his help. Yeah. Alexander knew when he had needed help, and it wasn’t when he was here in the bureau stuck in a holding cell. Alex’s fingers curled tighter around his phone, nails digging into the case, edge pressing painfully against his palm. His face darkened in the blackness of the room, slowly contorting. His trust in the man was gone the moment Thomas turned his back that January night. And it wasn’t coming back. 

“No.” he spoke on the end of a swallow, throat bouncing against the collar of his shirt. To speak that word… it didn’t feel as satisfying as he thought it would. He didn’t relish in the wavering, livid perfection of his voice… it just sounded hollow. 

“I’ll page the bureau if I get the bitch. Until then, help yourself.” he clipped curtly before pulling the phone away from his ear, glancing at Thomas’s profile through his blurred vision one last time, “Stick to what you know, Thomas.” he mumbled to himself only so that Thomas couldn’t hear before punching the red hangup icon with the pad of his thumb. His phone went dark, leaving Alexander completely and utterly in the silence. In the darkness. 

He waited for the sense of fulfilment, of… righteous peace. Any moment now. Any moment…

As he stared straight ahead, he didn’t even blink. 

The loneliness didn’t feel satisfying. He kept waiting, and it didn’t fill him with a sense of independence, of triumphant revenge. Something was wrong; he should feel victorious. 

With grunts of effort, he pressed his back into the wall, groping his hands onto the cold metal behind him to shakily stand, the sweat on his palms sticking to the wall and causing his hand to bump along the surface. His small legs trembled, weak and numb as he probed with his fingers and used the wall as major support for his heaving body to lean against as he rose, and… he didn’t feel victorious.

Staying on the edge of the room, blindly, slowly making his way towards the bed where he had dropped his lockpick somewhere in his confusion, he understood what was going on, and he understood exactly why he hated it. As the anxiety of being trapped curled slowly around his chest once again like the roots of some dark, withered, wretched thing, accelerating his breath and squeezing him, the epiphany settled in with the rapidly-returning sense of panic.

He was still alone without Thomas.

As he huffed for breath, each second growing more and more sick with a choking emotion he didn’t recognize as the precursor of mounting anxiety, he was alone. It didn’t change anything to lock himself in with Thomas on the other side  _ just  _ like Thomas had done to him. In the end, it was still loneliness, self-inflicted or not. 

In the end, it didn’t matter if Alex hated that it was the truth and denied it to himself. It was still Thomas on one side of the cage.

And Alexander on the other. 

* * *

“Little twerp--” Thomas clipped between clenched teeth as he effortfully swung himself around the bend of the stairs, his feet  _ thundering  _ down and slapping on each rubber stair. The sharp sound sent echoes all the way up the spiraling staircase he felt like he had just ascended not twenty minutes ago. Hadn’t he just fucking been here? 

He panted, puffing for breath as he shoved his phone down in his pocket and replaced it with his glock 45 he had stowed under his belt, ungracefully tugging it out and clicked it off of the safety setting so he could shoot if he had to. His hair bounced, sweat dribbling down his temple and towards his jaw as his knees pumped, checking the number on the platform to remember the floors. The yellow sign read “86”, and he cursed under his breath, using his hand to clamp down on the chipping metal railing like a grappling hook and swing himself around yet again and descend towards 88, his breath and racket echoing in the stairwell. 

Now, his temper had taken the reins, fully and completely. It had pushed any collectedness out of the way with an indignant, “For fucks’ sake. I have to do everything around here.” and a razor-sharp glance at Thomas before seizing the controls. 

He cursed under his breath as the metal nearly burned his skin with friction and he jerked his hand back, but he just kept his head straight, prepared to shoot at any motion; he only hoped he could hit it in this state of mind. Suit fluttering open behind him, he sprinted. 

The state of mind had started the moment Alexander had just… hung up on him. There was something wrong. There was something blatantly wrong, and Alexander had confessed that he was injured, bleeding, and trapped somewhere in a cage, which could only mean one thing if he was on floor 88. And then Thomas asks to help him, and he just… hangs up?

He shook his head and scoffed to himself in frustration. Ridiculous. Fucking ridiculous. As soon as Alex had given up on the call, Thomas had hastily and informally called for his partner Damien to take charge of the team as he burst out of the door and into the stairwell, the search party peering after him in blatant befuddlement. Now look at where it had brought him. 

The man had no idea if Alex had passed out, if he was going to injure himself further, if he was with that woman being held or if he had even made it out of that God-forsaken floor. He could be anywhere, goddamnit, and Thomas could be sending himself on a wild goose chase through a hundred miles of underground maze. 

“Damnit, Allie…” Thomas grunted, swiping sweat onto the shoulder of his jacket in a jerking movement. Floor 87. Another sharp turn, a squeak of leather soles on rubber. More echoing, more snapping of heels and sharp breaths. The stench of the construction-like odor of the place was giving him a headache, triggering a migraine response that was going to actually cause one if he didn’t get the hell out of there soon. Head pounding, he finally reached the final stair. 

The driver’s suit swung at his sides as he came to a grinding halt in front of the door, shoes squealing in complaint on the platform. Heart thudding out of his chest… now was really the time to be careful, to tread lightly in all meanings of the phrase. She could be anywhere; he’d never thought about it before, but the sheer  _ number  _ of places to hide in Headquarters was astronomical. Elevator shafts, utility rooms, ventilation tunnels… It was like looking for a mouse in a cornfield, and hell, she could step out of a room at any time and snap Thomas’s neck if she so pleased. If no one was at the security cameras they’d never find him in time. 

With a sniff, Thomas flicked a droplet of sweat off his chin, his black, raven-wing eyes focused on the steel of the door in front of him. There was this low sort of bass-ish humming from all around, probably a water heater nearby, but the door seemed to be radiating the sound, radiating the power,  _ beckoning  _ him inside of its walls. There was an inexplicably dark ambience surrounding floor 88, as if it was some sort of ancient power, holding Alexander as a prize of its collection. It had The Reaper. And if Thomas wanted to get him back, he’d have to walk through hell.    
He cocked his head for a moment, lifting his gun with both hands, one for support, the other wrapped around the grip and finger on the trigger. 

So be it. 

Gun out in front of him, adrenaline still pumping from his earlier strenuous activities, he crept slowly forward in a stalking, low stance. There was no window on the metal door to peer through, and instead he approached with his hip and pressed it into the crash bar, it clicked inward, and Thomas pressed further, concentrated and ready to pounce into the hall, but with a thump, his hip hit the solid door and nothing happened. 

What the fuck? Immediately, his brows swooped down, his adrenaline spike stolen from him and leaving him frustrated. He pressed into it again with a click, and still the door didn’t open. Was this… was it… the only door in Headquarters that was locked? Thomas took half a step back, lowering his gun to his side to free up his right hand. With yet another clack, he pushed the crash bar in a couple, and the door didn’t give. The man inhaled a deep breath, the anger already rising like bile. 

“Fucking kidding me…” he cursed, turning his back on the door to start walking away. It was fucking ridiculous that he had to do this. To any onlookers, it would appear that he was giving up and leaving. 

With the predictability of a striking snake he inhaled a deep, sharp breath, whipped around, took a running start on the hard, cold landing. He lunged after the stutter step, sending the heel of his leather shoe smashing into the crash bar with devastating velocity with his weight behind it, and the immediate deafening “BANG” that followed echoed all the way up the stairwell, most likely all the way up to the HUB. 

It was nothing compared to when the door  _ flung  _ open on its hinges, slamming its metal onto the inside wall within, causing a reverberation that could make teeth rattle as the bolt holding the door in place clanged to the floor, tinkling and rolling off into the hall. He sniffed, not even bothering to shake out his tingling ankle. 

With the odd sense of running out of time, Thomas wasted none as he darted his arms back into position, outstretched with his Glock clutched in his hands as he took a large stride into the midst of floor 88, stepping over the stray parts of the door he had broken off.

Immediately... he noticed was how cold it was as he flicked his head rapidly, swiveling it sharply back and forth to scan his new surroundings. 

_ Now,  _ his adrenaline had spiked, rising as he noted the hallways extending to left and right and the large open one ahead, cells on the right, interrogation rooms as well as the control room on the left. There was a considerable temperature drop, chilling the beads of sweat on Thomas’s back and face, but not in such a way that was unpleasant as much as enlivening. The temperature of the lighting was also a cold, white light as it was… when Thomas had retrieved Alexander from the prison he was being held in for a year. 

He swallowed, another wave of guilt begging to swell inside of him as he took careful, quiet, trained steps forward into the hallway, his neck always on a swivel for any signs of movement in the eerie space. 

The similarities between this place and Alexander’s detainment facility were uncanny. The vault door-style cells, the cold light, the tile, the freezing temperatures, and Thomas had the inexplicable feeling that he had been thrown back a week earlier, strolling aristocratically through those vaults with the unenthusiastic intent to bring Alexander back. To bring him home. It was this nightmare all over again, wasn’t it? Thomas was going to have to do it all over again in a different time, different place with a different criminal on the loose this time. A deep sense of responsibility, of  _ drive  _ caused him to press his lips together and stride faster, making his way to the closest vault door, heels making absolutely no sound on the floor beneath him. 

As he approached, his heart began to pump, pulling him, tugging him towards where Alexander had to be, and he held his breath, about to pass the first cell. 

Upon the gaping darkness, Thomas stopped dead in his tracks. He blinked, lowering his gun a degree from ready position. 

“What…” Thomas mouthed the word upon seeing that the vault was… open? He licked his lips, taking one glance up and down the hallway and rocking on his legs before deciding to speak. 

“Alexander?” he called into the cell with a hissing whisper. But there was no response other than his own echo and silence. Stupid. 

Shaking his head in a flicking motion, he turned from the cell, striding up to the second one and preparing his gun, aiming it directly into the room but once again, open door, empty cell, nothing but darkness and a visible minimalistic bed and sink, a sad, morose little display in front of him. Was this the time to start panicking? Of course it wasn’t, but Thomas had no perception of the fact that he wasn’t in the right state of mind when he was searching like this, searching without his partner that he knew was in immediate physical danger. With his emotions in control of the reins, Thomas let his gut do the decision-making.

With a frustrated grunt, he started jogging, his blood pressure heightening with every passing moment that he didn’t know what the hell was going on. He passed the third door. And the forth, empty, and he broke out into a full  _ sprint _ . The shock of the steel-hard floor on his formal shoes was as painful as it was loud, but he couldn’t have less fucks to give to that particular concern. He raced past the fifth, all caution to the wind this time as his feet hammered down on the ground. Alexander must have gotten out. Of course he did. With that kind of defiant, spiteful determination in his voice when he had hung up on Thomas, there was no doubt that he was going to be getting out. 

And now, it truly was a wild goose hunt. 

Holding his gun with one hand now, swinging at his side as he ran, Thomas streaked down the hall, approaching the T-section of the corridor, approaching the intersection where he’d have to make a choice. Would Alexander go left or right? That was an easy one: right. Definitely right; when they were on missions, Thomas always took left when they split ways; it had become second nature. This in mind, he thundered towards where the hallways split right, placing a large hand on the drywall edge to swing around the bend in full sprint--   
**_Thwack._ **

In a moment of completely unannounced impact, Thomas  _ smacked  _ directly into something hard and solid with so much devastating momentum that he lost his footing beneath him, slipping backwards on his gripless shoes and coming crashing down to the tile floor, _hard,_ onto his right cheek like a sack of bricks. He hardly had time to get his arm out to lessen the impact before he had smacked down to the ground with a deep “oof” of the wind being knocked clean out of him, falling six feet as a two-hundred pound person was about as painful as breaking all of your ribs simultaneously. 

Head on the floor, ear ringing from his cheekbone coming down so hard on it, he saw stars dancing in his vision before another weight came thumping down directly on top of him, crushing any air that was left out of Thomas, squeezing him like a deflating air mattress. 

_“Uhhh…”_ Thomas groaned softly and deeply, his hip cracking once beneath him at the pressure on top of him, clearly another body. The man tried to lift his head, heart near ready to pound out of his fucking chest, but he could’t yet, still dazed. Now he could taste the floor, cold and dirty with his lip pressed into it. Fucking disgusting. The weight on top of him shifted, stirring just as he was after the crash collision. 

“Thomas?” a voice scoffed, and immediately, Thomas knew who it was. Not only that, but he could smell the warm scent of lavender, the scent of his partner on top of him. He squeezed his eyes shut in a grimace, lips still partially on the filthy tile as he tried to slur out a word.    
“Alexander?”

“Nah, Buddy the elf.” he snarled aggressively, rolling off of Thomas's body that he had accidentally used as an airbag in a clumsy motion, clearly a little fazed himself, “What the hell are you doing here, Jefferson?” he panted and kicked Thomas’s gun on accident, sending it clattering across the floor and bumping against Thomas's ribs as he stood up with some difficulty, one of his small hands on the white wall as he leaned heavily into it, allowing his back to thump up against it. 

Thomas grimaced and grunted again, his cheek stinging something fierce and sending lancing pain all up his jaw and head, throbbing with each beat of his heart, which was fairly often. He cracked it back and forth, blinking to try and get some of the feeling back. 

Alex stumbled another step backwards, full weight on the wall. His feet were a little more than shoulder-length apart, and Thomas started there, slowly scanning up Alexander's body as well as he could with the sparks dancing and swimming in his vision like some sort of choreographed ballet. Blinking, eyes watering, Thomas evaluated his sniper. shoes to belt seemed okay, his double-snakes glistening on his waist piece, but when Thomas glimpsed his open suit jacket, his white shirt spattered with tiny red droplets of scarlet, his heart started to pound. 

As if he wasn't at potential risk of a concussion, Thomas kept his eyes on Alex as he rocked a bit so that he could slide his knees beneath him, getting up onto all fours and puffing out a breath, winded. Alex ignored Thomas's state, talking in a hushed, hissing tone.  
"Goddamnit, Thomas, I told you to stay where you were, dipshit." he heaved for breath as well, his tiny chest rising and falling. Thomas struggling to get on one knee, and then used the wall as support to stand. His other hand swept across the tile, finding the grainy grip of his gun and taking it up into his hand. He had a feeling he would need it. Taking the wall opposite Alex, he faced him for the first time, and.... 

His gut lurched.

Alex kept talking, a trifle of blood smeared away from his mouth, as if he had wiped it on his shoulder several times, but it still trailed from its place of origin. Thomas was speechless. 

"Earth to fuckhead?" Alex scoffed incredulously, waving the gleaming steel of Eurmaeker at Thomas as if trying to get his attention, but the only thing Thomas could focus on was stumbling forward a little bit, pushing off the wall and coming up to Alexander whom he naturally towered over. 

"Oh my God, Alexander, what did you _do?"_ he nearly scolded, but his voice was low like a soft growl. Alex scowled with his curvy brows, obviously extremely standoffish. 

"Back off, Thomas, you need to leave."  
"Yeah? Well I'm not." Thomas retorted, an unexpected edge cutting into himself more than Alex. The kid blinked the eyes that he could open. Because his other was squeezed shut. An open cut above his eyebrow that looked as though it could potentially require stitches to the surgeon in the room leaked down in a trickle through his brow and into his eye. There were tears running down that cheek, obviously his eye trying to flush out the foreign object and failing. He stepped up to Alexander, who appeared frozen as Thomas took his tiny face in his hands, tilting it back and forth to get a good look at him. 

"The woman. Was it her?" Thomas demanded shortly, holding Alex's wet cheeks, his ears between Thomas's fingers. Alex tried to shake his head, but Thomas held it steady, still in the process of examining him and trying to gauge if Alexander could wait before he patched him up or if they had to leave. Now.   


"No. I fucking guarantee someone was disguised as her; I knew something was off." Thomas rubbed his thumb under Alex's eye, sweeping the bloody streak of tears away which ultimately ended up smearing it across his smooth-skinned cheek, "She has a goddamned decoy." Alexander elaborated like he wanted to kick something, and Thomas released Alexander's face slowly, running his hand through his hair. A decoy. A motherfucking decoy. How could anyone have been stupid enough not to realize this. 

After a five second's pause, Thomas spoke again.  


"We have a lead on her now. We can page the bureau, but we can't wait here with our dicks in our hands for them to get down here." he sifted his damp, raven hair between his fingers and looked at Allie, raking his scalp. It was just him and his partner alone in this stark white hallway, searching for hay in a haystack. Just like old times. Thomas regripped his Glock 45, Alex still leaned against the wall, a train-wreck. 

"Then page the bureau, Jefferson." Alex spoke, the feeling of Thomas's warm hands still remaining no his face for just a moment longer than they were there, he released the slide-catch, cocking Eurmaeker, "She's in the ventilation; that's how I saw her getting around--through the shafts." he sighed in irritation, "Looks like another piece of bullshit is entirely up to us to fix." 

"Us?" Thomas scoffed and repeated, ebony brows folding down, "Last I heard you were hanging up the phone on me, jackass. I mean shit, Allie, I thought you wanted out on the whole contract for a minute."   


Alex swiped his forearm across his face, trying to dry the blood, "Even if you're an incurable moron, you're my partner. So if you get shot for chasing me down here, you get shot." Alexander shrugged, tossing back his mane of long, golden-brown hair, "I'll drag your fatass to the hospital wing, but I don't think I'll have to." 

An unnamed emotion spreading through his chest, bringing him back to life, Thomas lifted his chin, still standing over Alexander. He could still smell the strong scent of lavender, feel the heat of Alexander's body radiating onto him. With a deep inhale, Thomas cocked his own gun, his heart pumping rapidly again. Another mission.  


"Damn straight." he confirmed, loading his weapon with a clack of machinery locking into place. 

They had a mafia rat on their hands. And the sooner the found that bitch, the better. Thomas didn't understand what had changed in Alexander's head, but what he did understand is that together, as the infamous pair, they were going to take that fucker down... 

  
  


* * *

  
**One day prior**

The digital clock on his desk struck two in the morning, beside his left hand. 

In the complete silence of the night, James Madison sat upon his leather chair in his home-office, facing the blinding white of his laptop. Yet again. His hair was tousled from restless sleep, tossing and turning, and finally arising from bed. His feet were bare, and he wore nothing but a bathrobe and his glasses upon the bridge of his nose. 

The night may have been quiet. Inside James's head, there was no such thing. 

With a tap of a pale, ever so weary finger on his space bar, James Madison tiredly began the recording in the file with the click of a button, the reflection of his screen a white, hovering rectangle in the lenses of his glasses. A still scene, what could have been nothing more than a painting came to life on his computer, the audio tuned in, and it began. James was the conductor raising his baton to the orchestra. 

The quietly tortured man, the Warden of the asylum, leaned back in his seat, yet he was not in any state of relaxation. He was stiff. He was tired from nights of sleepless rest. This wasn't nearly the firs night he had been like this, alone in the dark with only the recordings, and it surely would not be his last. 

One video of many in the file commenced, and James watched with a stony silence to his presence. 

In an instant, he was immersed. The video from one year passed engulfed his senses as if he was there once more. 

Click. Click. Click. 

Silence. 

Pause. Hushed whispers. Silence. 

  
Click. Click

Click. 

Silence. Pause Whirr. 

A rectangle of white blinked once, and a projection cut through the darkness like a razor, spreading to each of the four corners. The screen was split, displaying the projection on one, and on the other, a rather more weighted scenery. James’s eyes twitched, focusing and darting over the recording he had viewed… more times than anyone should know. 

The echoing, sharp noises of clicks, the mic checking the audio was working, and the crinkling shuffle of a young teen on the protective, thin paper spread atop a medical examination chair were the only sounds. No voices yet. 

James knew the script of the session as if it were a play, a performance shunned by all, shunned even by himself, the keeper of the file. And in the background of the stage, the airy examination room, bleached and cleaned, the reek of rubbing alcohol wafting even through time and the screen, the playmaker stood tall, resolute in the background. A tall, thin woman with crossed arms and loose cheeks that pulled her lips into an eternal frown. She wore a deep navy pantsuit, the collar up around her neck that looked so tight like ageing leather. The director, the producer, glasses hanging around her neck from a metal beaded chain.

Jane Jefferson. Head raised in all-knowing, time-sensitive demeanor, she looked down upon the boy in the chair, freshly sixteen as of five days prior. James knew this from the date displayed in the top right hand corner of the file in blinking white: 4/18/2058. The recording symbol also showed, further exemplifying the age of this file. And the youth of the boy in the chair. 

He had long hair, hair that fell most likely to his shoulders, and it was an inky, pitch color of brown so dark and ebony that it was nearly raven black. Smooth and glossy, it was pulled back and gelled, hidden under some form of scrub cap designed for this purpose and procedure. His hair was by far the least noticeable characteristic of his head, same with his sharp, dark brows and shady, dangerous eyes. 

James swallowed quietly, accustomed to the sights before him, ignited on the dull, throbbing light of his screen.

White patches, wires attached to them and trailing down towards a sleek, concealed circuit board were in the spotlights of the show. They attached to his temples, his forehead, the back of his neck like thin tendrils of roots extending down, down behind him to the deliberately placed control panel, the thing itself buzzing quietly, already turned on and pulsating quietly with unseen power. 

For someone of the ripe age of sixteen, he was considerably larger and taller than the average fully grown man. He was already at six-foot-one stretched out on that chair, his arms carefully placed on the armrests, dressed in a white T-shirt and what almost looked like leggings, but it had to be something else that James didn’t know about or care enough to ask. After all, Thomas didn’t know that James watched this video like he did. Nobody did. 

The examination room was pristine, minimalistic. James knew that it was set up for the sole purpose of sessions like these…. And for people like Thomas. 

James’s eyes flickered to the left side of the split screen where the projection flickered for the first time, cutting with no transition to the first slide. 

It stilled… and the image almost…  _ radiated  _ a slow sort of darkness. Ominous. James exhaled slowly, for he knew it well enough he could paint it. It haunted him in his dreams at night, the ones that made him thrash and cry out with terror that frightened George to death. 

It was a splash of pitch-shaded watercolor, but it looked as if the paintbrush could have been a razor. The symmetrical shape had sharp edges as if serrated, and running up the middle were round, sanguine red dots, so striking and vivid that they could have been freshly spilled blood, dripping from a puncture wound in steady intervals. James pursed his lips, pressing his knuckles to them so that the could feel his teeth along the inside of his soft flesh, pressing a little indent into it. He knew the design well, the sick, twisted sort of beauty of it. 

That was when a click signalled the audio, surrounding the silence of the room with sound, the buzz of air conditioning, the breathing of Jane Jefferson. But Thomas… his eyes were closed. He was absolutely silent. 

A woman cleared her throat, and with a deep, throaty voice, she spoke, “Commencing session thirteen with subject number 2302A, Thomas, no middle name, Jefferson in The Perception Project, April eighteenth, 2058. Guardian signature completed, subject signature non-applicable.” 

Something curdled in his stomach. James hated that sentence. It made him sick. The reason being obvious. 

Through all of it, Thomas didn’t move. He didn’t turn his head. 

There was a sort of…. Maturity. A sort of  _ unnatural  _ weariness, wisdom about the boy who’s glassy eyes were closed, dull and empty. The way he was collapsed in the chair seemed so exhausted, so unnaturally tired and beaten. Only James knew that it was the extremely potent mood stabilizers that kept him in this semi-comatose state. His mother brooded behind him like a horned owl in her hide, arms still crossed over her chest, tight neck still showing her stretched tendons. Her tight face with mild inconvenience in her deep black eyes, the eyes that Thomas shared yet none of his brothers did. They were all blessed with fine, hearty green ones, sparkling like emeralds. 

“We are moving into the reinforced corrective section of your mental conditioning. The legal guardians of the subject have requested we demonstrate the most effective means of correction via electrical current. Please describe what you see, honestly and fully on the projection in front of you, and do not change your answer based on anticipated outcome. This will delay progress. Answer honestly for an accurate testing result.”

Jane Jefferson did not move. She did not shift in discomfort the way James did at the words “electrical current” or “mental conditioning”. In fact, she was silent. There was only the whirr of the air conditioner, the click of heels passing beyond the examination room and then fading off into the distance as the passer went by. Jane seemed… irritated. A moment later, she checked her watch on her wrist, glancing over Thomas for a moment before lowering it back down and recrossing her arms over her pantsuit once again. It was obvious in her little movements, her eyes up at the ceiling that she had places to be other than supervising her underaged son’s session that a hired nanny was not allowed to do in her place. James’s chair creaked unexpectedly beneath him, and he jumped, twitching with a startle. 

Licking his lips, he turned back to the computer screen after casting a wary glance behind him in his home office to see nothing but blackness of the late night. Slowly, he shifted and returned, still feeling like there were eyes on him… quiet eyes boring, burning slowly into the back of his night robe. He hadn’t noticed he had been on-edge like this… but it required no explanation. 

There was no one watching him in the deep of the night save for this collection of 18th century model ships and his own brooding conscience, standing above him as the woman was on the boy. A reaper not of souls, but of childhoods. 

“You may begin. Please describe what you see in front of you in full sentences.” 

Silence. 

If one could call that. The buzz of the air conditioner and the lights, the quiet ambience of the hospital exam room. The woman’s throat bobbed, clearly unhappy, but she said nothing. The camera jiggled slightly as the person sitting at what must have been a table bumped it with their knee, standing. There was a dark figure, filling half the screen as she walked in front of the camera, a sharp shuffling sound in James’s sensitive ears as her white coat brushed against the mic. 

The way Thomas waited patiently for her to cross to the electrical panel further displayed the…  _ sick  _ sort of conditioning he had already acquired, as if he was a misbehaving dog being trained to heel at the tug of the choke collar at his throat. The administrator stood behind Thomas at the panel, his mother not bothering to shift out of the way, a display of dominance as the administering woman scooted the panel towards herself, giving Jane Jefferson the room she required. 

“Thomas Jefferson, please describe what you see on the projection. You have twenty seconds before I administer an electric shock on default.” 

“I know.” Thomas spoke for the first time in the recording. James recrossed his ankles for what felt like the hundredth time. That voice...

There was so much to dissect in the boy’s voice. The monotone was not purely numb. Not this time, not this test. Even through his potent mood stabilizers, his dazed state, there was a hint of frustration--not arrogance, but irritation. His lips were chapped, and they scarcely even moved, when he talked. His head didn’t either, his hair remaining still in the scrub cap, his eyes still closed. 

“Thomas.” his mother hissed sharply under her breath, and Thomas tensed visibly. His fingers, his set on the right hand, twitched. They always did when he was nervous, James had noticed. 

“A butterfly.” he exhaled, and this time, his voice was even weaker, even less vigor. It wasn’t as deep as one would expect from a boy so large in general, and there was an unreciprocated glance between the administrator at Mrs. Jefferson. But the mother in the room was utterly emotionless. Utterly cold. When the administrator clicked down on the rightmost pad of the panel, James flinched. It became almost instinctual after all the times he had watched this. 

There was but a low, vibrating sound accompanied with a high-pitched buzz as Thomas  _ jolted  _ in the seat for a split second, his muscles seizing up. James’s lip twitches involuntarily, the race of his heart beginning to gradually accelerate in force. Thump, thump…  _ thump. _

With a crinkle, Thomas thudded back down to the chair, falling still, but not for long, he exhaled this… unnatural sort of noise that one would  _ never  _ expect to come from him. A high pitched, airy, shaking exhale of breath. Jane Jefferson’s throat bobbed again, her thin brows twitching down. Thomas breathed, his chest under the white shirt rising and falling. 

“What?” he spoke, and his voice wavered dangerously, not as if before a sob, but out of weakness, exhaustion, “Whaddya want to hear? What? What?” his mouth opened wider for his last one, barking the words. His voice cracked pitifully, as the woman clicked on the panel again, causing another seize of his muscles. He cried out this time, falling back down to the chair and panting, his breath becoming sharper. 

“ _ What?”  _ He yelled this time, making both women in the room jump, but Jane only flinched for a moment, stony face never breaking, 

“For Christs’s sake, Thomas.” 

“The truth?” 

Another shock, another yell on the verge of a scream accompanied with it, “You don’t  _ want  _ the truth. You wan’me to say it’s a lung with stage four chronic obstructive pulmonary disease. That’s what you wanna hear? That what you wanna hear, Ma?” 

Another shock. Another jolt. Another lifeless face of his mother, watching. Watching her own son methodically tortured into submission, medically altered towards her idea of “health”. Towards her idea of “sanity” and “correction”. James began to feel the uneasy queasiness building up in his gut, sickening him. James was an empath. He could feel the pain of anyone near him, and now, he felt Thomas's pain. He felt Thomas's cathartic release of the words he had never _once_ spoken in previous sessions of these tests. 

James pressed his lips to his knuckles until it was painful. This was why he watched this one with a twisted obsession. This was the one Thomas put up a fight and finally... lost. 

"Aughh!" His voice cracked painfully deep in his throat as he began to pant, his chest rising and falling beneath the white of his shirt. James flinched, wounded at the sound. Thomas swallowed, a wet sound that followed more panting. 

For twenty long seconds, there was nothing but the administrator standing by the panel, eyes on her hands, and Thomas's sucking in air to his desperate lungs. This was his forty-five seconds of break before the image switched to the next inkblot he was to evaluate. James knew he hardly ever got that far; he didn't have the strength to watch it. Tonight, he had no such tolerance to cope with the full length. 

Thomas's lips curled back slowly, shakily, revealing his teeth. A droplet of saliva collected on the bottom lip as they pulled further and further back into what was clearly not going to be a smile...

In the back of the room, Jane tilted her eyes down on her youngest and last son as he grimaced so hard it was evidently painful for him. His eyes were squeezed shut so hard wrinkles extended past his dark circles all the way to his temples. And in the silence, the wheezing of breath turned into a shaky, trembling silence. 

His mouth moved, and this time, James read his lips, watching closely. 

"You hate me..." he mouthed the words without any sound but a useless expulsion of air from his tight throat, just a tiny escape of air. James's heart broke. He could feel the splintering finally, finally crack as his heart shattered into a million shards for Thomas. It was only an arrowhead piercing his delicate tissue when Thomas continued to tremble, his body uncontrollable with the medications and corrections.

"You hate me." he spoke out loud this time, but his voice was high and airy as it was before, nearly a squeal, "You hate me, Ma, why do you hate me? Why?" 

T his time, his words were jolty, like a car trying to start as he sobbed them out, teeth still gritted and lips still wobbling with agony. The administrator looked to Jane Jefferson for any form of acknowledgement or further instruction, but the woman hardly even flinched. Her arms were still crossed, her watch face turned up to her eyes on her age-spotted wrist. Thomas's throat bobbed.

"Why won't you love me?" his next word was only mouthed, the same airy hissing, "Why... why, why..." his head fell to the side a little before he corrected it, finally closing his lips to swallow the spit trembling on his lip with a deep, wet sniffle. His face crumbled more into a look of pure, physical sickness, his fingers shaking uncontrollably at the end of his large, tan hands. He looked like he was going to vomit as he whispered his next words just too himself.

"What did I do?" 

James felt bile rise up into his throat, bitter and stinging. He couldn't watch this anymore. It was sick. A shiver ran down his spine, prickling him. 

Finally, his mother, shifted her weight, looking up to the ceiling with closed eyes, "Thomas, put your head back up--" 

  
And Thomas jolted up with a sharp crinkle of paper, leaned over the side of his seat, and vomited violently.

All those medications, James thought, as his own innards began to hurt as if it had the desire to empty itself too. The patches ripped off of Thomas's head, falling and bobbing at the end of their wires as the dangled from the chair while he emptied the contents of his stomach onto the floor, emptied all of his mood stabilizers and nausea from the electric current.

James's lip twitched in disgust and horror as he watched the muscles of Thomas's abdomen contract once again, retching another heave. The image haunted James: this image he was staring at. The childhood that had shaped Thomas Jefferson: this was it. The greatest driver in the world, his best friend, and he had never resolved this. Never spoken of it to James. Never. The man hid it inside, bottled it into a tiny chapter of his story that he never returned to unless in his nightmares. The trauma surpassed inhumane. It was heinous. 

That was where the video cut off abruptly without transition into blackness, hiding the horrors behind an empty screen. That was where James had edited it to end and proceed to the next video on his laptop. For now, there was nothing but a black screen staring back at him, the scant light illuminating his face and making it appear far older than he was. Now, he was in his own office again, taken out of a time nine years ago, and dropped jarringly back into his seat. 

He hadn't realized he had been holding his breath until he exhaled and the pressure released, the air flowing out of his tight, overfilled lungs. 

Breathe in. Breathe out. 

It was supposed to be simple. 

Wasn't it?

with a slightly shaking hand, James raised his fingers to his face, lifting his reading glasses for a moment to rub the bridge of his nose. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, resetting. He had a ways to go before the night was done. He always did on nights like these. One more video. One more comparison. One more ethical, moral burden weighing down on his frail shoulders weakened by time. Breathe in. Breathe out. Simple. He tried to find his normal dry sarcasm, his boring, stoic personality, but it could not be here. Not with his conscience knock, knock, knocking on his chamber door. 

The amount of psychological weight it took to watch his best friend on that chair, being... shocked into submission. 

James felt small. So small, as small as Thomas must have felt, laying there, knowing that his mother didn't love him. James was dizzy for a moment, maybe of lack of sleep, maybe of feeling the crushing weight of Thomas's trauma. 

before he was ready to go on, before he was ready to continue in his own hell, the recording started for him. It was as if his own nagging conscience had pressed the start button, turning the screen towards him as if to say, "here. Have another go at it, soldier." 

And so history repeated itself in James Madison's office yet again. 

Click. Click. Click. 

Silence. 

Pause. Hushed whispers. Silence. 

  
Click. Click

Click. 

Silence. Pause Whirr. 

Light sliced through the blackness of the room, the shutters of an old-fashioned projected clicking and clacking as it vibrated to life, whirring in the emptiness. It blinked, piercing the murkiness of the space like a needle. The beam of light flickered until it was steady, the only sound in the space as it projected, a blinding white onto a banal, square wall. 

One by one, the fluorescent lights on the ceiling “ _ shunked”  _ as they turned on, igniting the back of the room, not the front. 

From behind, a panel of men stood at a table, watching the screen before they began to shuffle papers, whispering again to one another. From their position and from James’s watching the recording, all that could be seen before the white glare was the black silhouette of a boy, hair hanging to his shoulders. It was an… eerie sort of presence radiating from his complacent silence, a dark sort of force as if everyone was proceeding in their daily dues, acting as if this was normal, but it was far, far from. 

E ach and every one of them could feel the partners beside them holding their breath… bated, waiting for the boy to do something. The analog clock on the back wall of the examination room ticked… ticked… ticked, the second hand twitching with each passing moment. The projector clicked. Papers shuffled. Whispers. 

Knuckles to his lips in silence, James watched the second recording, the night around him allowing him to dive into the film, dive into yet another memory. The presence of Alexander was unnatural… and chilling.

The boy was as still as though he were dead. He could have been a lifeless corpse by the way his head was hanging down, hair in front of his face that none could see from where they were, as the boy was positioned to view the wall, turned away from them. But they could see the back of his chair that he was chained to in the exam room, ankles, midsection, and wrists so that if he was to be approached, he wouldn’t hurt himself. 

But most of the doctors were less concerned about the boy getting hurt than they were about other… more personal risks. And hence, the buckles were tightened with intense, scrutinous caution by the men in white coats, fastened down and fed through the loops around his white uniform. The hushed sense of tension was thick in the room as the supervisor, the Warden of the facility, spectated from the one-way observation box out of sight. James Madison remembered being there, up in that box. Watching… 

They moved around him, milling and triple checking the equipment and clipboards before the session began. one man’s eyes flickering to Alexander as he checked the straps. He swiveled a mechanism around on a rotator, clicking it into place when it hovered above Alexander’s exposed inner wrists, the pale, fragile skin turned upwards to keep them pinned down and at the ready. The man could see the webbing of blue veins beneath the thin layer of semi-transparent flesh, blood steadily coursing through them, and further up his forearm was a simple, beige band-aid. Beneath it, a swollen bump where a tracking device had been inserted throbbed.

James’s eye twitched, watching each motion closely. Emotionlessly, the doctor checked that the device was in place before inserting the syringe needle into it, screwing it snugly into position where the mechanism would control the injection of the brown-gold liquid that twitched inside of the tube, vibrating with the movement. 

It remained there, over the boy’s vulnerable wrists, lurking. It would not be inserted into flesh if not needed, but it was clear, almost palpable how  _ easy  _ it would be for the thin needle to pierce the delicate, soft skin, slide under and inject the icy sedative directly into his veins. 

The doctor checked the measurements once again, and pulled his blue-latex gloved hands away from the syringe and the chair-attached device holding it at bay. Everything was in position, the projector warming up above their heads. From this angle, James could see nothing, but he was well aware that the doctor could see Alexander’s face. He peered hesitantly at Alexander, trying to be inconspicuous as he began to walk away, shoes clicking inaudibly on the floor, as the mic was on the table where the rest of the panel of researchers was; the one near Alexander had not been clicked on yet. 

There was a rumbling cough that sounded close to the camera, and a sharp shuffle, someone clearly leaning up to the mic. 

“Commencing session one with subject #8808H, 21:00, January twelfth, 2066.” he drawled, flipping a page before continuing, “We will begin our leg of the voluntary Perception Project with the patient on this date with a non-influenced Rorschach Test.” 

There was a pause as the man lifted his finger off the mic to rearrange some things and speak to his associates, who worked on the computer. 

James’s eyes flickered back and forth over his screen, watching the events unfold. His eyes were focused on Alexander, his head hanging low, hardy even moving to breathe. The white projection flickered, cutting immediately with no transition to another frame. Once again, it displayed a symmetrical, abstract watercolor splash of black ink, like a drop of food coloring squeezed into a glass of water with a “plink”. It bloomed from the center, displaying jagged edges and a row of red ink dots right up the middle, separating the two identical sides. There was a click, and the audio tapped in once again. 

“Subject 8808H, please describe what you see on the projection in front of you in full sentences.” 

Click. 

There was a sound like white noise as the director of the session manually turned on the mic by Alexander, allowing him to speak. The camera angle switched, surprising James a bit at his computer. The jump made him twitch unexpectedly, seat creaking beneath him.

He shifted his weight and exhaled, not even realizing that he had been holding his breath, and attempted relaxation.

This time, the camera was facing Alexander head-on, obviously a hidden one beneath the projector screen. The kid just… sat there. For a period of exactly ten seconds, the researchers let Alex sit in silence. The only audible sound was the tick… tick… tick of the analog clock, the only marker that time was passing. The researchers did not shuffle at their chairs, their fingers hovered over tablets and gripped around pencils, but nobody moved in the tense silence. 

Especially not the boy who was eighteen as of one day before. 

The head of research opened his mouth, casting a glance across the panel before pursing his lips and returning to the mic, growling a short cough before clicking the button to activate it again. 

“Subject 8808H, please describe what you see on the projection in front of you--” he specified, but a sound interrupted. It was… bone-chilling, eerie. And it was coming from Alexander, who remained as still as death. 

James didn’t realize that he had stopped breathing. 

“Shhh….” 

A slow… slowly shiver ran gradually up James Madison’s spine, camera still on Alexander in that chair. The needles lurking at the ready above each tiny wrist. James got a better look at them now, familiar with the substance. A newly engineered 2063 model of Midazolam, a fast-acting sedative that was chemically altered to be immediately effective. If Alexander were to do something dangerous, the needles would plunge into his forearms, avoiding his embedded tracker, and sedate him. The amount given was adjusted substantially due to his youth and size so as not to unintentionally euthanize him on the spot. 

The threat, however, of the needles didn’t seem to bother the boy. It was evident by his words, head still hanging low. 

“Shh…” he repeated, and the researchers just… looked at one another. James watching this late at night on his computer was the only one who knew how this would end. And yet, over and over again he watched this session in particular. The first one. 

The dangling strands of hair shook a bit this time as Alexander’s face moved. From the camera facing him, even in the shade his locks provided, the smile spreading across his face was just… too wide for him. It was… wicked. And not a hint of remaining sanity was left in them; they were having fun. 

“So rude of you.” Alexander spoke, a hint of song in his voice. The researcher swallowed a scoff, getting slightly impatient. He was a busy man, and this time he didn’t hesitate before he pressed his gloved finger onto the button that activated his mic for the recording. 

“Subject 8808H, we need you to describe what you see--”   
“Shh…” Alex hushed again, and it was long. He hissed out until all of his breath was gone, drawing the silence of the panel out until they surely had goosebumps rising on their arms beneath their coats. Alex smiled again, not bothering to lift his head or open his eyes. This time, there was no period of silence before the boy spoke once more. 

“Can’t you see I’m trying to rest?” He spoke softly, but enough so that everyone in the room could hear clearly what he had said. The researcher, obviously an arrogant and dry man that James could tell from the recording, nearly rolled his eyes to continue, lips still on the microphone. 

“No, this is not a time for you to rest.” he drawled like Alex was a stupid child, and as the man spoke, Alex frustrated him by laughing in complete silence, just his body shaking quietly as the man went on. The head of research blinked, still talking, “Tell us what you see, 8808H, or we will move to other means of persuasion to record your interpretation.” 

The man leaned forward in his seat, the metal squeaking, “I ask again. Subject 8808H, describe what you see on the screen--”

But Alexander just laughed out loud, and this time, James flinched, his leather chair cracking as it squashed beneath him. Alex had lifted his head, tossing his long hair back so that it fell behind him, displaying his face clearly. The expression on his… undeniably gorgeous face was one of amusement, and it was sickening to say the least. James squinted, knuckles still pressed against his mouth which caused his teeth to leave indents on the inside of his lips, beginning to feel the… all too familiar tug of his own conscience, his ethical conscience tap, tapping on his thoughts… guiltily requesting his attention. He pushed it aside as he further studied the boy’s face, pausing the recording to examine him, dig deeper. He was trying to find the answers, the ones that would quench his nagging conscience.

Alex’s amusement wasn’t purely… untainted. His hazel eyes glittered, reflecting the square of projection in the pupils, and his straight hair fell away from his face regally like royalty, covering his ears as he lifted his curvy brows. His lips were chapped, cracked from the dryness of his cell he had been taken from, and the ends curled up into his signature smirk even in his toothy smile. The kid still wore his braces and rubber bands, which James knew were removed two months later. Now, he sat there and smiled casually, but there was a darkness behind his eyes. A loathing. 

James shifted his feet on the floor, recrossing his ankles in a different direction as if no position was comfortable. 

His amusement was not purely lighthearted, no. It resided with a far more cynical, hateful side of him, one that was laughing at the cruelty of the experiment,  _ laughing…  _ at his own stupidity for trusting human decency enough to believe that a man he had loved as a brother would not put him here. For having the trust in mankind that if you love someone enough, protect them enough, they will do the same for you.

And he  _ laughed  _ in the face of such a disgusting, repulsive mistake. The deep hatred behind his accepting, wicked eyes revealed the rotting underbelly of such an intelligent, elegant young boy, the crack that had been inside him all his life finally splintering, splitting. There was only so much longer before it shattered. 

The shiver trickled down James’s spine as he averted his eyes, swallowing dryly to click play once again; he couldn’t handle the feeling as if Alexander were watching him through time, watching him now in 2067 through this recording. 

The kid didn’t look around, but he stared right into the camera. He had figured out where it was without even having to try. He cocked his head, scoffing slightly in his laugh.    
“I’m actually more curious about the persuasion you’re talking about, champ.” Alexander finally spoke a full sentence, curling his lip at the camera, “Yeah, I know you can see me. Hello.” 

The man in charge, breathed in, keeping his mic on at this point. Two minutes in and he knew he would need it.    
“Hello. Please describe--”

“What I see on the screen; I’ve heard.” Alex nodded patronizingly. He leaned back against the seat and looked down at his arms, “Aren’t you going to ask me how my day was first?” The panel looked back and forth at one another, some hesitantly making notes on their computers and notepads of the dialogue established so far. 

“No. You are here for medical research purposes. You are required to--”   
“Yes,” Alex spoke, “I will.” he nodded carefully, and that golden flash of… malice passed behind his hazel-green eyes. The man at the mic leaned forward, but Alexander interrupted him once again.

“If you ask me how my day has been. Of course.” he stated obviously, tossing a strand of hair out of his face. Well aware that all eyes were on him, he observed his nails, picking under his thumb with his pointer finger. Nobody spoke. James observed like a hovering spirit as the researchers’ audio cut out, the man, holding his hand over the mic to lean in and speak to his assistant and consult the panel. It seemed that they were in disagreement as Alex just sat there, boredom on his face as well as that same… slowly simmering sense of hatred. Of darkness.

He sighed deeply, still playing with his nails, “I can wait. I’ll be here for a lonnnng time, gentlemen.” they looked at him again, falling into a hush, “Patience and I are old friends.” Alex whispered. 

The silence that ensued was vibrating with tension, pulling even now on James Madison’s gut. The man could still feel that same tapping… tapping of his conscience, trying to get into his brain. His ever-waking conscience, waking even when he slept. Knocking on the windows, keeping him awake…  _ eating  _ at him. He watched for an entire twenty seconds, unmoving, before the man pulled the mic towards him with a blue-gloved hand, bumping across the table. 

“How… was your day?” he spoke as if it were physically painful to say the words. They were dry, almost as sucked of life as the shrivelled man was himself, a husk of a dull personality that wrinkled his nose at anything that stepped a toe in over the line of professional data and into personal. But there was another reason for the hesitancy of the panel, James knew. Because  _ somehow,  _ even buckled down to a chair with the looking threat of potent sedatives, Alexander’s invisible hand was ruling over this conversation. Even in his bondage, the boy was… manipulating them. Scaring them. 

Alex smiled pleasantly, but his lip twitched. James did not blink. He watched it twitch with hatred beneath the snakelike charm. 

“There we go. Thank you for asking.” he dipped his chin nigh an inch, but kept his eyes raised. This was the part that James Madison dreaded… Alexander stared into his soul, into the very depths of his mind. The ethical man squirmed in his chair tie constricting his throat. Alex began to speak, a snarl behind his voice. His brow… cast a shade over his eyes, and a deep,  _ festering  _ darkness passed behind them, his entire facade falling away. 

“I’m well. I’ve actually got a few words for Mr. James Madison.” he spoke, staring straight into the camera. James, no matter how many times he had watched this recording, felt his heart begin to  _ “whump… whump… whump…”  _ heavily in his chest. The researchers glanced at one another again, a woman scribbling madly to get everything down. 

“Yeah, I know you’re watching. And I know the pretty girl in the back is taking notes, so listen carefully, and keep up.” The same guilt… the same nagging of his ethical conscience tugged on him with each bang of his heart against his ribs. Alexander rapped his fingernails on the metal arms of the specialized chair. Now, there was no hint of a smile on his face. It had faded into a screwed up, tortured loathing. 

“I’ve got a little message to pass on to your Thomas Jefferson. God knows I have words for your bastard-ass too, Madison, you sick piece of shit. But this isn't about you.” There was a collective tensing from the panel, each of them flinching at the spit spraying from Alex’s mouth at the language. Pens scratched furiously, the head researcher glancing over his shoulder to where James Madison had been seated in the observation room during that time. Clearly, he had hesitated. The man stared up at the room, not knowing what to do with him now.

It didn’t matter. James remembered what he had been doing that night up in the observation room; he was on the phone. 

On the phone with thomas. Alexander kept talking.

“This is about me. And Tommy.” Alex spoke, the same childish insanity, the psychopathic playfulness blending with his spiteful tone. He tapped his finger in exact synchronization with the ticking of the clock in the background, the distinction impossible. All the while, he stared point-blank into the camera. He waited, staring into the soul of whoever was watching, as if he was reading their microexpressions through time. It was obvious in the man--the child’s--face that he was speaking only to Thomas, envisioning his friend as he released his words. 

“I’m not very happy with you, Tommy.” he spoke, nearly a whisper, “I’m not happy with you at all.” he shook his head slowly like he was scolding a small child. James’s spine seemed like a highway for chills, the hairs rising on the back of his neck, “You really think you can hold me from my own trial? You think I shot you?” he screwed up his lips to spit the next words, 

“You psychotic piece of  _ shit.”  _ he spat, “Wrack that brain of yours, Tommy, you know Randolph shot first. You know it, and you are in _denial_.” he shook his head, never stopping, “But then again, you played your cards well, Thomas. I’m proud. It was your word against yours. You know, I bet it’s easy that way, Thomas. When you can’t lose. How was my trial, hm? Was it fun? Who was there?” he mocked, obviously taunting Thomas in the cruelest of ways.

Alex scoffed, curling his lip that twitched once, a precursor to the emotion about to break loose, that crack of Alexander’s widening… splintering.

“You know, six days I’ve sat here. Waiting to see what they’re gonna do to me once the trial closes. And alas, the day has come.” he nodded, “I’ve been on my ass, waiting for you to come crying that you take it all back, but you’re still holding strong, huh?” he laughed, more like a giggle, “Thomas Jefferson being anything but a wimpy, big-talking crybaby who evvvveryone seems to pity. Oh poor, poor little Thomas. I’m impressed.” Alex frowned in consideration. He took a moment to consider… and in the silence, he tapped… tapped that finger with the twitching tics of the clock.

He tilted his head to the side, and James could see the insanity in his eyes… like a horror movie as his face split into a delirious smile. His emotions were changing so quickly, so unpredictably. It was mayhem. 

“And the more I think of it, the more I  _ love  _ the sound you made when that bullet hit your shoulder. You have no idea how much blood sprayed, Tommy, right into your lying fucking mouth. It’s really keepin’ me going.” The researcher’s throat bobbed, obviously the distasteful comment was not sitting well with him. But it was only half of it. The kid's hair spilled over his shoulder, head still tilted. 

“I only wish I had eyes on the back of my head. So I could see the look on your face when that traitorous bastard  _ died…”  _ he snarled the last word as low as he could, obviously not done, 

“God, Thomas, you were crying; you were screaming; you were holding him in your lap and rocking him off to his long, cold slumber like a little kid with his dead dog while he spilled his guts and blood all over you. You’re a surgeon, right? Tell me which arteries I hit.”

The mic clicked, tension rising, “Subject. 880H--”

“Shut up!” Alex barked so loudly and abruptly that spit flew, and everyone in the room jumped, shocked. He scarcely twitched his head to get rid of him like he was an annoying sound, “Shut up, we’re not finished here. Can’t you see I’m in the middle of a  _ fucking  _ conversation?” he screamed.  _ Screamed.  _

The energy tore his throat, ripping through his lungs, the insanity playing through. In the ample space of the room, his words echoed off the wall like a chorus, a chorus of Alexander’s voices screaming in pain, tormenting him. Maddening. It was at that point where something needed to be done. Alex panted, chest rising and falling beneath his binds, the leather holding him down, and the researchers began to move, some scooting their seats back. Alex just spoke faster at the camera, speeding up to get through it. 

“You think you loved him? Huh? You wouldn’t know love if it put a gun to your forehead, you cowarding bastard.” Alex sputtered, still going despite the movement behind him at the panel, 

“You’re no better than him.” he shook his head in loathing, bottom lip quivering in utter hatred, “You’re no better than Randolph whose tasting the torturing flames of  _ hell.  _ Would you have held me like that?! While I died? Would you?! _ ”  _ he spat, voice rising more and more as he talked, getting himself increasingly more worked up, straying from his usual composure. Behind him, papers shuffled and metal chair legs screeched on the tile floor, pushing back away from the table. 

“You wouldn’t know love if it flew up you ass.  _ I loved you. You were supposed to be my best friend.” _ he screamed, face contorting with rage as he jerked forward, hair bouncing at his shoulders. James flinched, adrenaline coursing through his chest. His heart raced now. Everything was happening so fast. Alexander leaned as far forward as he could, pulling against the binds over his tiny chest. 

“And now, I hope you come back. I hope you do. Cause if you do, I swear, I’ll  _ kill  _ you.” This was the true side of Alexander. The horrible truth. He jerked again, kicking his knees as much as he could,  _ wrenching  _ against the binds, so that they  _ clanged,  _ “I’ll  **_kill you!”_ ** he screeched again even louder, sucking in breath between each word, head tossing madly, face screwing up in livid wrath,“You can’t leave me here, Thomas.” his face was blushing red with rage, the tendons popping with strain in his neck. This was the hardest part to watch, and James braced himself. 

Alex’s eyes glazed over with a glistening sheen as he screamed, spit flying from his mouth, “You can’t leave me here, you sick piece of  _ shit.”  _ his nose wrinkled, lips curling away to bare his teeth, showing them off. His brows turned down in rage, the first tear spilled off the brim of his bottom eyelid and pattered down onto his lap, leaving a darker little patch on his white pants. Alex choked, but only once in the entire recording. He gulped in a huge breath, still spilling out words, spewing them out like he’d never speak again. 

_ “You need me.”  _ he roared, the footsteps swiftly approaching audible now on Alexander’s mic. The kid knew they were coming, “You need me. You know you do. You need me. I won’t be here forever, mark my  _ fucking  _ words; you’ll come back.”

In that last moment that Alexander had before they were upon him, another tear trickled slowly down his face… time slowing down. His eyes were on the camera, but his head was lowered. The smoldering embers behind them displayed more than the anger…. This side of Alexander wasn’t the dangerously cool, the lethally controlled and intelligent psychopath. Alex was putting on that attitude when he was manipulating them earlier, but now, he had dipped into something he had never tapped into before. 

Anguish. Pain. An utter… utter loss of control--helplessness. 

Telling Thomas that the man needed him wasn’t a threat or mockery like his previous onslaught about Randolph’s killing. It was a beg. A defenseless plea. He was trying desperately to manifest it because he… knew it wasn’t true. Thomas had left him there. And Thomas was never coming back. As James’s eyes darted back and forth over Alexander’s bloodshot, tearing eyes, the tortured betrayal, he could see that understanding in them. The horrible, understanding realization.

And Alex panicked. 

With a scream of rage, he flipped both of his wrists forward and back in a snapping motion, and he was just… free from the restraints on his arms. Nobody had seen him do it. Nobody knew how. It didn’t even register until he jerked back the buckle across his chest and wrenched it the other way, freeing himself from it so that he could careen over, nearly falling out of the chair and breaking his calves as he reached down to his ankles, hair falling in front of his face. He was breathing heavily, and it buffeted on the mic. 

“Hey,  _ hey  _ he’s out.” Someone with a deep, grizzly voice boomed, and the steps behind him leaped into running footfalls, squeaking on the tile. Someone began to speak, voice muffled behind a walkie-talkie, “Lab A-5, we need backup over here.” 

Alexander panted madly, terrified and flighty--so uncharacteristically Alex--as he got the final buckle undone and burst forward. Where would he have run, James wondered? Even now, watching it, his heart throbbed, his thin, wispy brows turning up at the scene taking place in front of his eyes, the screen reflecting in his glasses. 

Alexander was a deer in headlights, eyes wide, not a place in the world to run as the prepared security burst into the room, the kid managing to land one fair punch to someone’s jaw before he was completely cornered against the projection wall, the inkblot displayed over his white uniform. The black butterfly with eight red dots running up the middle. And Alexander was the canvas. 

The men and women swarmed Alexander, overpowering him, and James muted the audio with one disgusted click of his finger. He hated listening to the line he had memorized by heart just as he had memorized Thomas's heart-shattering dialogue. The scream Alex had used was enough to give anyone nightmares that would haunt them in their waking hours. The same as listening to Thomas retch his stomach over the edge of his seat. 

_ “I’ll never tell you why I killed him. I’ll die with it! I’ll die with it, bastard.”  _ James could see it happening now, read Alexander’s lips as he physically spat saliva onto someone’s face before stumbling backwards, both hands on the wall behind him, pressing himself to see what was going on around him like a cornered piece of prey. 

_ “I hate you.”  _ he screamed at the world, screamed at Thomas as tears ran down his face. Nothing he had ever heard had been so far from an act. Nothing had ever been so far from a lie than the soundless words flinging out of his mouth like razors, slicing and nicking the delicate, supple flesh of James’s heart until it bled out into his chest. 

James could only curl his lip in self-disgust and look away as the men held a writhing Alexander against the wall, holding his little arms so that Alexander bared his teeth and growled animalistically, something primitive and savage in his eyes as his hair flung wildly. He swiveled his head in a lightning, snapping motion to  _ bite  _ the throat of the man trying to push him against the wall like a striking serpent, and James twitched in discomfort. 

He clamped down, sinking them in and  _ holding,  _ vibrating his head to lodge his teeth deeper. James’s lip twitched as blood squirted out with velocity, spattering the floor, and the scene progressed like a soundless black-and-white film, the contorted faces of pain and terror and rage all revolving around a seventeen-year-old in white like a Renaissance painting. 

Alexander was the representation of beauty, of purity in his white garb—an angel of youth. The blood and the insanity in his eyes, however, tainted his image. He was the angel of impurity. Of inhuman sadism. Through the crowd of people, there were only flashes of Alexander’s face, an avant-garde, surrealist recording, it felt like to James; blood on his teeth and in his braces, spilling down his chin and splattering his white shirt like blood on snow… it was less beauty than mayhem. 

Alex bared his bloody teeth at anyone who dared to come closer, showing the glistening, bloodstained braces and canines, more waterfalling down his chin. He didn’t even spit it out. James could see it on his tongue, scarlet and nearly black with darkness, pooling there. It was clear that he had sunk his teeth  _ all  _ the way into the throat of the man, who was screaming and being attended to rushedly at the side of the scene, while Alex was finally overcome. 

He slipped with his gripless shoes on the slick tile, and fell against the wall. Off balance, the kid never stood a chance. 

James averted his eyes with the taste of bile in his mouth as three men laid on top of Alexander, crushing him and pinning him so that there was no possible way he could move. Rubber soles of the men scrabbled on the floor, and finally, the action began to still, slowing down to more of a calm as Alex finally slowly fell still, slightly squirming, but he was completely covered by bodies, pressed to the floor. Allie was a strong kid, but there was only so much that a 120 pound teenager could do against uniformed security. He never stood a chance. 

Thomas never stood a chance either. 

Suddenly and abruptly, James reached forward and slammed the exit button of the file, closing it with a click. The entire frame disappeared, vanishing into thin air to lock it away in his mind, make it all just… go away. 

But it never could. It would never disappear as easily as the recording had from his screen. It was imprinted, burned in him from the moment he had watched it. Both of them. 

James quietly leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking as it reclined a degree for his weight, cradling him. The soft velvet of his black night robe rubbed against his bare skin, cushioning him, yet he could not feel more discomfort in his position--in his penthouse home office. No. 

James Madison could not be at peace. He was never at peace. 

For the first time, he tore his eyes away from the computer screen, using his hand that wasn’t pressed to his lips to carefully and quietly close the lid of the laptop as not to wake George. He was in the bedroom, but James was careful as he always was as it clicked shut, the only light in the room seeping away into complete darkness. Despite this, James could feel his surroundings engulfing him, but at night… It was a parallel universe. 

His globes and 18th century style office were not of comfort to him, his collectable model ships of the Queen Anne’s Revenge and the Santa Maria, all lined up on the top row of shelves around the room, his own little fleet of miniature vessels. When the day turned dark, the night turned sour for James, thrusting him into a world of a tainted nature. A world… where his mind filled in the spots unseen in the darkness. His conscience to be specific. His ever present, ever knock, knock, knocking conscience. 

He folded his arms over his chest, shuffling them into a comfortable position as he stared straight ahead staring at the crack between the drawn curtains that let in the smallest sheen of moonlight and downtown city glow. And he thought of Alexander, free to roam. Alexander, walking, sleeping, breathing somewhere out there, somewhere under this city in Headquarters. And he was with Thomas Jefferson once again. Thomas who had been so tortured by someone so close to him: his own mother. 

Feet bare on the ground, James pressed the clammy soles to the embroidered rug, trying to ground himself. But in the darkness, he still felt like he was drifting in his own mind, stuck in his own mind. 

A man of ethics. 

That was how he referred to himself. He had always prided himself in it, read on it, studied it in university. From the moment he could speak--a quiet child, he was--he weighed the universe’s offerings on a human scale. He watched carefully for which side dipped… dipped a little bit lower than the latter. 

A man of ethics. 

James placed his hands on the arms of his seat, now sitting as if in Lincoln’s chair. But he was not calm in the calmness. He was not quiet in the silence. His mind was loud, rampant, chaotic. One year now had passed, and one year now had gone where he could no longer weigh the universe as he used to. 

Because he knew things about Alexander Hamilton that no other man knew, and he was sworn to keep it to his grave. He knew about the experiments. About the project. He knew that Thomas had been a part of it all by his mother’s hand. He had been tortured. He had been tortured as Alexander had by a corporation that had been shut down two months ago, but not soon enough. James’s mind wandered to where it always did next. The half-truths. 

Thomas knew Alexander would be subject to testing when he convicted him. James never told him that Alexander would be a subject in the very project that Thomas was. James never told Alexander that Thomas had been a part of these tests. And Thomas hadn’t either, because Thomas didn’t know that Alex had even been subject to it while in detainment. 

The tangle of secrets was becoming too deep… the things that Alex knew and Thomas didn’t, that Thomas knew and Alex didn’t… but James knew it all. James knew too much. 

A man of ethics. Was it his right, he wondered. Was it his right to maintain the lies. 

James knew about Alexander talking to himself months into detainment. The things he said about people… about Thomas. Should he have alerted the man? Should he have warned him? Was Thomas in danger now with that psychotic boy? Because he was. Every test they had run, every interrogation they had taken, the results of the youth were always the same: he was psychopathic. Irredeemably psychopathic. And there was no cure. 

Well. One. 

James pressed his feet to the floor, eyes still resting on that sliver of dull light between his drapes. He squeezed the arms of the chair. There was a cure for everything, he supposed. One that only passed the sickness unto others. 

Death. 

He knew for himself that Thomas had tried that cure on himself after Alexander’s trial. He had tried on that same night of Alexander's first test, and he couldn’t do it. James thanked God for it every day, but he had sworn never to speak a word of Thomas’s secret to the world upon pain of death. Never to speak a word of that phone conversation on the late night Thomas Jefferson had put the gun under his own jaw. The same night Alexander had had that first test. The same night James was up in the observation room, watching it all unfold. 

Would a man of ethics have spoken a word? Would a man of ethics do more than take Thomas out to dinner a few nights ago and try once again to get him to speak of Randolph Emerson? James’s conscience had grown into a twisted sort of blessing. It used to be a gift… and now had decayed, rotted away into a curse, a forever whispering and tormenting curse. His conscience weighed on him, followed him wherever he went.

It followed him to work at that god-forsaken asylum, and back home to his bed. 

It followed him in his lovemaking with George, heavenly and sultry, and now… it was reaching its limit. 

It had reached its limit when George had asked him to hand over the rights to Alexander’s tracker. Re-activate it and hand it over. 

The scale tipped in neither direction. On one pan, there was the fear that Alexander was either a traitor or a neurotic lunatic, both of which George had proposed and was trying to warn against. And there was the trust James had in George’s loyalty and character as well, adding to that side. But laying on the other pan was the illegality. 

The same moral question of whether keeping a secret was a lie. The moral question James would always torment himself with. 

Were secrets lies? 

To track a top secret mission was nothing to decide lightly. And what would his committee say when that was proposed to them? The only saving grace he had was that George himself had formally requested it, but… George. If only it wasn’t George. 

James was a firm man around any but that one… James was as dry and forward as Thomas, yet as sardonic as all get out, but not around George. Saying no to George was another issue. And James had run it through his mind time and time again to no avail, turning it every which way until he had no idea what he was even looking at anymore, twisting it so that it was unrecognizable. There was no right. Thomas was the man with trust in his own gut-instinct, but James could not do such a thing; he relied on ethics, morals, righteousness, not just a “feeling”. Did Thomas or Alexander have the right to know they were being watched, even for their own safety? 

James closed his eyes, tiredly lifting one heavy arm to rub his aching bridge of his nose, lifting his glasses to massage it. 

George slept without him in the other room in his peaceful, untroubled slumber. And James was awake, the soul that never sleeps. Never at peace. 

A man of ethics seldom was. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	25. The Son of Burr

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to check out the THF Tumblr page "the-hamilton-files-author" for lots of THF memes, fanart, and content!! Thank you all SO much for reading, and I can't thank you enough for supporting me during these difficult times and always being here for more THF!
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Alex flicked the hair out of his eyes, the strand sticking to the caking, gradually drying blood. Thomas was blurred in his vision thanks to his own bodily fluid, but he could see well enough; the real problem was the substance getting stuck under… his color contact, trapped directly against his hidden, icy blue iris. He blinked again, the sting like a fucking needle in his pupil like it had been since the moment that bitch slammed the grate on his head.

He squinted, focusing on Thomas’s face towering above him. The guy was standing awfully close to him ever since he had swiped the blood off and examined him like a patient. Feeling his heat through his thin clothes, Alex spoke, swiping his moth across the damp shoulder of his suit,   
“We gonna kiss or should I keep it in my mouth?” he mumbled muffledly, peering up at the man with a raised brow.

Thomas immediately glared in annoyance, the epic moment between them vanishing into Alexander’s crippling sarcasm. Thomas just sighed, rubbing a knuckle over the bridge of his nose.

“You can do me a favor and keep it in your mouth for the rest of the day.” Thomas suggested. Alexander just shrugged, frowning in consideration.    
“Mean. Just thought that if I could smell your mouthwash from where I am, you’d want a little tongue-on-tongue action.”

“Shut up,” Thomas scoffed in annoyance, turning his face and body from Alex, who was irritating him already. The kid really knew how to get under his skin at any given moment, and it was messing with his mind. Clearing it, the man scanned down the hallway, calculating carefully. Luckily, it initially branched into two different directions here at the intersection of the T, two directions that Alexander hadn’t already searched while he was down here on his own. They’d have to split up to cover the ground. 

Thomas’s raven eyes moved slowly in his head as he tilted it up, thoroughly doing a scan of the tiled ceiling, white speckled with black flecks. Ugly as hell. 

“Not even a smooch?”

In his observations Thomas had almost forgotten the horny bitch was there. Suddenly his mind was soaring to ways to make the bitch shut up.

“I said shut your mouth; nobody wants to kiss your damn  _ dorito breath.”  _ Thomas spat, flicking a scowl over his shoulder at the nuisance, who pushed away from the wall where he was leaning casually with a heel. The kid opened his hands, Eurmaeker occupying one of his palms as his suit flaps fell into place. 

“Yeah except for your dad, asshole.” 

Thomas ignored him, and for a moment Alex watched his driver doing his customary, careful scan of their surroundings. Alex was well familiar with this, allowing it to happen for old time’s sake before blinking slowly, mildly entertained.

“Are you done sightseeing, dollface?” Alex inquired on a bored sigh, already done with his own mildly horny shenanigans as if the world ran on his agenda. Thomas was irked another half-a-degree at the patronization, meeting the hazel eyes behind him.   
“Excuse me?” his voice echoed in the empty hall.

“Doesn’t take a genius to know the ventilation is in the ceiling. And unless you can see through cheap ceiling tile, I recommend keeping your eyes on the prize.” Allie tapped his own chest twice, raising his brows in a twitching motion at Thomas as he stepped past him, gazing directly up for a split second so that the familiar... sexual tension between them was tight in the air.

The younger bit his lip.

Alexander knew exactly what he was doing, and yet he just kept  _ doing _ it. Thomas had no choice but to ignore him as he passed with a lingering scent of lavender. 

He let his arms fall to his sides with a “pap”, the familiarity of these discussions settling back in like they had never been apart. Like Alex had never called him in a frantic moment of weakness and hung up like he’d never talk to Thomas again, yet here they were, formulating a plan of action a mile underground.

“Alright. Then we need to split up.” Thomas laid the idea on the table. The kid approaching him just snorted.

“That was the best impression of my dad I’ve ever heard,” he smirked, “kudos.” he nodded, stepping in front of Thomas as the taller man’s raven-haired head followed him. The sniper placed one hand on the wall to peek casually around the corner and do one last scan of the holding cell area. Thomas’s eyes darted up and down Alex’s small figure, his shoulder-length hair falling over his black suit, his petite hand appearing smaller than ever on the white wall, one ring glistening and iridescent on his pointer finger. Something about it irked him. 

“Done?” Thomas grunted through a flexed jaw.    
“Mm. Coast is clear.” Alex noted, pivoting back around neatly as he brushed a bit of hair out of his face with the muzzle of his gun. The strands fell over the silver tip, pressed up against Allie’s temple, and Thomas stiffened. 

He froze, a glitch in the matrix of his brain.

Like the synapses in his mind were firing at the speed of light, he was slingshotted jarringly back into a memory. Another time, another place far beyond the tunnels beneath Headquarters. 

A mirror. A bathtub full of water. A polaroid taped onto the foggy glass, leaving a rectangle of clarity. 

And he couldn’t snap back from the alternate reality; he could nearly  _ feel  _ his own pupils dilating, his own heart rate accelerating against the caging of his ribs. Like an image branded into the front of his mind, he couldn’t get rid of it, couldn’t rub it out of his eyes if he tried. It was there, starkly in front of him as he watched Alex do that one tiny, innocent movement that should’ve meant nothing. But it did.

It meant something. 

It meant bloodshot eyes. Sweat stains under a suit. It meant the frantic ringing of a phone, the cold, clammy moisture of the sink basin under his palm as he clutched it; it meant the shakiness of his own inhalations as he slowly… slowly lifts his eyes. Even now, he looked at Alex’s face, and he remembered the polaroid.

The braces, the innocence of the smile--an eternal smile--frozen and captured into a silent photograph, a laugh snapshotted and preserved for all of time, twinkling braces and eyes in the Las Vegas beating sun. And the click of a loading gun underneath Thomas’s chin. 

“Thomas?  _ Thomas.”  _

With two words, Thomas was shaken back. 

He blinked, for a moment confused about where he was before his black eyes darted around to see Alexander stepping past him once again, head turned over his shoulder in a businesslike gesture, yet the kid’s brow was furrowed. 

“You hear something?” he queried, completely present in the moment whereas a piece of Thomas… it was still in that bathroom one year ago. Still stuck where it had been for a long, long year of his life. Thomas flicked his tongue over his bottom lip briefly, pulling himself together as much as he could. Yet his heart still raced, his chest still tightened. What… the hell had just happened to him? 

“No.” he spoke, and his tone was a hair more snappish than he initially intended. Allie flicked his brows down. 

“Well excuse me.” he snorted loftily, but Thomas just looked at the reflective floor, processing. Alex wasn’t an idiot. He may be young, but he was far from stupid, and he could see the gears turning in Thomas’s head, something he had witnessed quite often with Thomas being in his constant state of silent internal conflict these days. It exhausted Alexander. 

“Thomas, you hit the left. I’ll hit the right.” Alex spoke clearly, tapping the side of Eurmaeker with a middle finger nonchalantly as he started down the hallway, his glock warm in his clutch… but when there wasn’t a second set of footsteps commencing in synchronization with his own, he turned his upper body, glancing back at Thomas again. The man was just… standing there in all his glorious suit. But he had both hands on his gun, pointing at the ground. And he was just staring at it. Unmoving. Alexander paused, giving him a customary scan down when he noticed a flicker of movement: a bead of sweat rolled down his temple, glinted, and Alex stopped in his tracks. There were few people in the world Alex could read like he could read Thomas. And something was wrong. 

“Earth to Jefferson.” he spoke clearly, and this time, he got Thomas’s attention. The man looked up, his black eyes…. Different. Not entirely present, he could read. He was somewhere else, not yet blinking. 

“What?” Thomas snapped again. Allie lifted his gun, gesturing behind Thomas.

“You. Take the left.” he said the words slowly as if to a toddler, then pointed his gun at his own chest and tapped it on his tie, “I take the ri--”   
“Don’t point the gun at yourself.” he cut Alexander off sharply with a gruff, demanding tone of voice. 

Immediately, a moment of shocked silence ensued. Thomas wasn’t in the right state of mind to have formulated that request in a way that wouldn’t piss the high-strung teenager off. 

“I’m sorry, are you out of your goddamn mind?” he scoffed, relaxing his shoulders and turning fully towards Thomas. He was ready to end this here and now. Thomas didn’t even move one muscle as Alexander began.

“What the fuck’s gotten into you; see Randy’s ghost or something--” 

“SHUT UP.” Thomas screamed. Thomas…. Actually screamed, “SHUT THE FUCK UP.” spit sprayed from his mouth as the words echoed sharply, stinging Alexander’s ears over and over… fading in the metal hallway to prove to the men that Thomas’s words were not going to go away. They were still there. Alexander stood in his place, an expression of utter cluelessness splayed across his face.

Mouth slightly open, he spoke. And his voice came out soft and quiet. 

“Thomas.” he whispered, finding his eyes and coaxing them up to his own. Alexander could figure this out if he could just see one  _ tenth  _ of a second of Thomas’s irises. As soon as the hazel met the black, the connection clicked like electricity. 

“What the hell is going on.” he growled under his breath, and Thomas stared. Stared… at Eurmaeker. 

“What the hell is going on, is that you have a  _ loaded,”  _ Thomas finally let a hand off his glock and gestured at Alexander, breathing in, “ _ firearm  _ pointed at yourself. Hamilton.” he finished the statement harshly, stinging, yet his tone was choppy and inconsistent. Alexander scowled, shaking his head and ready for his immediate rebuttal. 

“I’m literally the most valuable sniper in the world. You think I’m gonna blow my own head off by accident?” Alexander sneered at him, trying to make defiant eye-contact but Thomas was stubborn as always, “I’m psychopathic not suicidal.”

“Oh my God…” Thomas mumbled in utter frustration, turning away from Alex and running one hand through his hair, raking it roughly as he looked at the ceiling, puffing out a breath. His gaze stayed up there, and Alexander knew that he was counting up to ten and back. He always did when he was trying to keep his temper from bursting like a rodeo bull from its pen and flattening everyone in its path. Alex glanced down the hall, down the gleaming rows of cells, then impatiently back at Thomas. 

They didn’t have time for this. Not  _ now.  _ They didn’t have the  _ fucking  _ time for Thomas to throw a tantrum and play martyr. Making his decision, Alexander darkly drew down his brows, wet with blood that trickles through the hairs. Thomas was his responsibility. 

“Pull yourself together, dipshit.” Alex growled in the deepest, most grizzly voice he could manage. Instantaneously, Thomas stiffened and turned as Alex continued to speak.

“I don’t know what the fuck could be setting you off like an orphan in a toy section, but you need to get your shit straight, Thomas.” 

“God fucking--” Thomas exhaled, blinking sharply and running an arm over his nose as he turned towards the wall, stepping once towards it. He was obviously having a laborious time breathing, like he was trying to regulate it, but Alex wasn’t done. The kid swiped his forearm over his brow, smearing blood over his temple and into his hair in a sticky mess.

“We’ve got a goddamn job to do, and my ass if I’m gonna let you throw yourself some sort of pity parade in the middle of it. We need to  _ go,  _ Thomas.” Alexander emphasized through gritted teeth. 

“Are you with me or not?” 

The question seemed to ring in the silence. Thomas stepped once more to the wall, pausing before it. He seemed to be staring into nothing for five seconds. Ten. The time dragged out, draining out of their hands. They only had so much of it left before this hell was out of their hands completely. Alexander swallowed, darted his gaze frantically from the hall to his partner one last time. 

This had to be the moment of truth.

But finally, Thomas’s bottomless irises stared back, electricity vibrating between them as their eyes locked. His lips moved. 

“You take left,”

Alexander felt the upper corner of his lip twitching into a hint of his signature smirk. There he was. There was the Thomas he knew.

“I take right.” Alex finished his sentence. 

  
  
  


* * *

  
**January 3, 2064**

Randolph rolled his eyes, staring up at the red satin canopy of his bed. It was almost completely black in the dimness of the room, the only light lazily ebbing from a shaded lamp in the corner and the fire crackling softly behind the ornate brass grate. The seventeen-year-old was clear with his intentions, turning his cheek slightly and blatantly denying eye contact--not avoiding it--there was a fine line of difference. Of control. Even in the tiniest of matters, Randolph was a nuisance about telling the difference and making it known that he knew. 

Besides, the man on top of him, thrusting and pounding him with needlepoint precision on his sweet spot with a smack of skin on skin for each thrust clearly received the message. 

With a deep, heaving sigh, a sweaty Ronny Giovini shifted and shuffled in the sheets, gradually stopping his motion and huffing an exhausted breath. He panted, and Randolph remained still, elegant cheek turned away like the king he knew he was. The elder positioned his legs and pulled a lubricated and still painfully hard cock out of Randolph, nice and slow so the boy wasn’t displeased. Randolph felt the veins of the member slide slowly out of him, providing one last taste of the slightly overstimulating fucking-sensation before the swollen head pulled out, leaving him empty and slightly gaping. 

What a waste of time. Why had he come up here with this idiot? 

The boy blinked, still looking clearly up at the left corner of his room shrouded in darkness, nothing but the dancing shadows of the flickering flames on the walls. He couldn’t be any less enthusiastic about things, not today. He was distracted from his thoughts by the deep rumbling voice of his boy toy.

“You cum?” Giovini grumbled under his breath, sniffing while he swiped a hand over his nose from which a droplet of sweat was dangling.

He couldn’t believe this man.

Randolph slowly… slowly turned his head towards his friend, eyeing his dark skin dripping with sweat. His black eyes locked with his, and immediately, they shimmered with something Randy knew well.

Fear. 

At least the asshole had manners. The boy drew a deep inhale, sure to stretch out the tense, fearful silence as long as he could. Giovini just licked his lips uncomfortably, awaiting some sort of signal. With one word, the younger was more than communicative. 

“Obviously.” he spoke so slowly it was cringe-worthily painful for the man on top, who instantaneously stiffened. Fuck. 

“Aight.” he mumbled along with a few other words that were lost in the rustle of the sheets as he swung his leg off the boy he was straddling. Randolph let his head fall completely to the side, not even looking at his friend. Instead he stared at the dark wood of his door, the panels shadowed in the lack of light. It had to be at least eight o'clock at night now, but without windows it was always hard to tell. 

The bed creaked with Giovini’s movements as the man released a deep sigh, falling on his back next to Randy and relaxing his muscles. Ten minutes of sex, and the man was spent. Pathetic. He could get a better fucking from a dead corpse; it wasn't like the pitiful orgasm had brought him any satisfying relief to his crummy emotions. Shit, he hadn't even moaned, not once. 

As his most recent toy settled in the bedding, Randolph boredly extended an arm to swipe lazily over the surface of his bedside table. He probed aimlessly with his fingertips a few times until his nails collided with the cardboard of the Marlboro cigarette pack. Fucking finally; having a good smoke would be ten times better than that excuse of a cumshot he had just done. 

The boy grunted, dexterously leafing out one cigarette between two fingers and placing the orange end between his full lips, holding it there. He always kept his lighter under his pillow next to his eight round revolver, so once again he reached over his head, shifting his shoulder blades to drag out his lighter and ignite it with the pad of his thumb and a sharp click. 

He could feel Giovini staring at him while he sat up slowly in bed, puffing on the cigarette to get it to light with a billow of ashy smoke. Irritable as he was all day already, Randolph wasn’t in the mood, not for criticism.

“Take a picture; it’ll last longer.” Randy mumbled sardonically around the butt of the cig, the end smoking softly with an orange glow. His father disapproved of cigarettes, and Giovini knew this. Randolph had taken to smoking them in the privacy of his room instead of in public affairs in which his father would only approve of him puffing on high-end Italian cigars, as he did. 

“No judging, Fangsy.” Ronny grumbled, lifting his muscular arms up so that the back of his head was resting on his hands, stretched comfortably out. Not everyone had the privilege of saying they’d been in his position, so he took his opportunity to bask in it.

“I didn’t ask if you were.” Randolph murmured back, taking the cig between two fingers and inhaling a long draw. He knew full well he could read microexpressions and Giovini was--indeed--judging, but there weren't any shits left for him to give. His naked spine was pressed against the cool backboard of the bed, hard and uncomfortable. He could sit a pillow up for luxury, but he caved to laziness and stayed how he was. 

As he blew out smoke in a slow… slow exhale, he spoke at last. This particular inquiry he had been putting off for the larger part of the day, but there was no use ignoring the elephant in the room any longer. Well… the larger part of him wanted to show  _ nobody  _ that he was affected by it. And yet… he was. More than anyone. He drawled,

“How goes news on the scandal, Gio?” 

The boy never once looked at the man as he spoke--he wasn't going to give him the satisfaction. His eyes instead were settled, locked on the fire in deep contemplation, the flames reflecting in the deep brown of his eyes. Using a bored tone would keep him safe from any suspicion, or so he thought. His friend snickered beside him, still riding on the high of arrogance that came with sleeping with Randolph. 

“Well. It sure is going.” he chuckled, remaining in his place. Randy silently clenched his jaw. Tense… Today out of all days was not the time to mess with the Brazilian. And today out of all days was not the time he was feeling his lax self. 

“And what the hell is that supposed to mean?” he snarled under his breath, voice carrying the tension that his body was holding. 

Nobody moved. He knew as soon as the words were out that he had made a mistake. He had broken his cover.

Giovini cleared his throat slightly, catching on to Randy’s desperation like a moth to flame, and yet, the older man was scared. Randy could  _ feel  _ it in his bodily cues. Sense it in his energy.  For a long time, the only sound in the tension was the crackling of the fire, the coals burning hot in the hearth. 

“Do you….” Giovini started slowly, eyes trained on Randolph, obviously hoping for eye-contact where the boy planned none, “not know?” 

Frustrated, Randy took a short draw and breathed out the smoke, “Not know what?” he commanded in a snappish tone, unable to reign in his irritability any longer. They were past that point. 

“About your dad’s plans moving forward.” 

“Of course I know.” Randolph scoffed in arrogant entitlement, sure he was in on every aspect of this whole shitstorm. His thoughts raced, recapping everything that had happened over the past week and the distress it had caused him. A vile emotion began to rise up in his chest, so bitter he could taste it. He screwed up his lips. 

“That little twit.” the teenager spoke to himself, turning his body in bed so that he could swing his legs out from under the covers. He had to move, had to go somewhere. They were damp with sweat but slightly chilled, giving him goosebumps all up his lean thighs, but at least he was feeling something. The boy wasn't nearly finished with his monologue.

“I’m on a perfect track towards everything I’ve ever wanted and guess who turns up?” he stepped two bare feet on the floor, both his ankles cracking as he did so. He could feel Ronny’s eyes on him as he rounded the corner of the bed, crossing his arms so that he could hold his cigarette comfortably, the tip of it leaving a trail of smoke that led all the way back to the bed. 

He curled his lip, “Stupid, arrogant little  _ shit.”  _ he spat to himself, holding his cigarette between two fingers delicately while he bent forward slightly, pulling his green satin robe off the corner of the bed. Ronny’s dark eyes followed him around the base of the bed as Randolph slipped the robe over his shoulders, covering himself.

He was but a silhouette strolling in front of the fireplace; he felt the heat buffeting on his bare calves, the acrid tang of smoke painting the back of his throat and sticking there. It was enough to take the edge off the stress the past week had carried. The boy’s mind ran at a thousand miles an hour, calculating everything he knew about the Hamilton boy. That ridiculous excuse for a competitor, and he swiveled on one bare heel, turning on the embroidered carpet to pace in front of the fireplace once more. 

If only his father would put him on the case. 

It seemed more than logical that he would do it, but then why hadn’t he  _ done  _ it already? The waiting was eating away at Randolph every passing  _ second  _ that his father’s inner circle didn’t call up the boy with a drawn up plan for execution. Or hell, they could involve him in the plan at the very least. Randolph closed his lips around the cigarette and took another long, impatient draw as Ronny piped up once again. 

“Ah c’mon Fangsy,” he purred, reaching out one dark hand to pat the bed beside him, poofing in the sheets. Randy didn’t even look at him, eyes still on the patch of space in front of him. Ronny smirked,

“We can fuck it out if you want a round two. I’ll call Rico up here--”

“Oh shut up, you disgusting fuck.” Randolph scoffed, blowing smoke out the corners of his mouth, “Does it look like I’m in the mood for an aimless round of your humping again?” he inquired rudely, stepping across the rug. 

“Well whaddya want?”   
Randy immediately barked a high-pitched laugh in response, recrossing his arms so that he could rest them lazily and access his cigarette with ease. 

“What do  _ I  _ want?” he laughed out the words, turning this time in Giovini’s direction before continuing his pacing, making eye-contact for one second as he spoke his following words, “If I had what I want that bastard-boy would be a late dinner for my fucking retic.” he gestured with the smoking tip of his fag, “Hell, Gio, if I had what I wanted I’d be in the drawing room getting my orders to put eight rounds of my revolver down his throat.” 

“The Hamilton kid?” Ronny asked stupidly, squinting his eyes as if all the blood was still in his dick and he was massively confused about what this rant was going to be about, and Randolph rolled his eyes in the most inconvenienced manner possible. 

“ _ Yes,  _ the Hamilton kid, you incompetent idiot.” Randolph snarled impatiently, “If they had a lead on where he is by now, they should have alerted me, goddamnit. I should be in the room pulping someones’ face with my knuckles so I can exterminate the cockroach like I am  _ supposed to _ , and yet here I am wasting calories on your ass.” 

Randolph continued his frustrated pacing, expecting some sort of half-assed question or response that he could lash back at, vent his anger. It was unfair. It was truly  _ shameful  _ that the mafia had caught wind of The Harlem Reaper  _ and  _ his true name, and Randolph hadn’t had his name plastered across the case in screaming red. The Harlem fucking Reaper. He puffed, letting the smoke fall out of his nose.

The murderer had been legend for years, his name whispered in fear, and now they had a  _ name  _ on him. The only thing left to fall into place was a face, which wouldn’t matter too much after Randy had pumped it full of lead. His heels thumped on the floor, each footfall ringing the same word in his ears over and over again.

_ Doubt… doubt… doubt…. _

It was on his third irritated lap in front of the fire when he noticed that Giovini hadn’t responded or given Randolph anything to go off of. In light of the odd silence, Randy flicked his head towards Ronny, scowling with his soft brows in annoyance. 

“The hell’s wrong with you?” he nearly spat, scanning the man up and down… it took less than a fraction of a second for Randolph’s practiced eye to pick up on the fact that Giovini knew something he didn’t. Nobody… knew things Randy didn’t.

The teenager’s eyes darkened, a sinister shade passing over his brow. 

“What is it. Giovini.” 

The man in his bed stiffened. Anyone knew that Randolph referring to them by last name meant no good things to come. It was his own little warning sign for those in his presence to either watch their step, or get the hell out while they still could. Ronny picked up on it rapidly. He was in deep shit now, and the only fallback option was to tell Randolph what he didn’t know, even if there was a price to pay. In the dimness, Randolph didn’t even see him lick his lips, but he was too in his temper to notice it anyway. He could feel the heat rising in his chest, the doubt… 

The doubt that plagued his prideful being. 

“Randy…” Gio spoke, words falling off his tongue slowly. He was clearly taking the time to choose his words wisely… The boy stopped at the foot of the bed, outlined by the fire behind him. In his dark satin robe and his cigarette slightly smoking, he looked like the true mafia man he would become, elegant and practiced in the manner in which he carried himself. 

But now, Ronny could see the doubt, the desperation that always seemed to surround Randolph and his father… now it was getting worse than he had seen it yet before. He licked his lips again. 

“The Reaper case,”   
“Yes,” the teen cut him off impatiently, waving off the whole introduction without a hesitation. Ronny, who was rolled on his side, slid up gradually in bed so that he could see Randolph's eyes from his vantage point. He grimaced to himself, trying to figure out how to do this. 

“Your father… He, uh,” he cleared his throat with a rumbling cough, covering it with the side of his hand. Randolph stood still, cigarette delicately in one hand, unmoving. 

“He assigned me to the case.” 

Instantaneously, a silence as stifling as death itself fell over the room.

All sense of liveliness was snuffed out in a fraction of a moment as Randolph just stood there… staring. Ten seconds passed. Thirty. Soon, Ronny became clear on the fact that Randolph was drawing it out on purpose, holding the silence so that the utter shock was suspended in the air. The betrayal. 

Then, his dark lips moved. 

_ “What.”  _ he growled, so low it was  _ dangerous _ . The dynamic in the room was nothing less as Ronny started to speak, trying to advocate for himself, but even more for Randolph’s father. The relationship between those two was… difficult. And now they could both feel they were drawing nearer and nearer the final straw, and this was it. This was where Randolph finally made a decision that would either ruin his life or make it. And all in the name of his father…. 

“Randolph--”   
“Don’t you dare use my name.” Randy cut him off with a hiss, spit flying from his mouth. Ronny cut back, trying to hold his own. 

“Alright, look,” he started, gesturing with open hands, “Last night, your father came to my family for a casual dinner. We sat down for cocktails when he brought up The Reaper issue.” Ronny spoke fast, articulating clearly as if Randolph was on a ticking time bomb that would run out of fuse at any moment. The boy’s untouched cigarette sprinkled ash onto the rug underfoot, and he didn’t even flinch.

“The subject changed to who was taking it, and I mentioned  _ you,  _ Fangsy, of course I did.” 

Randolph didn’t even lift his chin in his usual lofty manner as Ronny spoke. He had no words. He was in no mood for flattery. 

Gio pointed at the teenager at the foot of the bed, “I obviously recommended that you, his son, take the case, but he revealed new information that changed the entire  _ objective  _ of the case.”    
“And you caved.” Randolph finished quietly, shaking his head a centimeter to each side, “you traitorous bastard--”

  
“No, I didn’t cave. I asked about how the objective would change, and I said I wouldn't take the case if I didn't know the objective right then and there.” Randolph turned away to the fire, mind running faster than a steam engine. Faster than a round of lead from an eight shot revolver. The objective of The Reaper case was to exterminate him. To assassinate the Hamilton boy, who was too much of a danger to keep alive, and Randy was supposed to do it. 

It was his destiny. 

Before Randolph could succeed his father, he had to kill the Hamilton boy. No one else. Just him. How could the objective of such an obvious mission be changed right under the boy’s nose? It wasn't possible. It was an outrage, an insult, and his father was the offender. Ronny’s continuation of information was the only thing that kept Randolph from raging out of the room with a full head of steam to seek out his father and ask him; “how could you give away my case? My  _ destiny? _ ” 

“He said the _initial_ objective was to--”   
“Kill the fucking rat, obviously.” Randolph sped him along, waiting for the final blow. 

He couldn’t possibly imagine what was to come. Ronny stiffened, peering down at the bedsheet as if it held the secret to the purpose of life while Randolph silently fumed.    
“Well?” There was a silence as Ronny tried to find the words, and Randolph had finally had enough. 

A week of waiting, and he snapped.

His rage, his injustice took over him. This wasn’t how things went; Randy was the most favored. He was the most intelligent, the strongest, the most elegant and charming. Things like this didn’t  _ happen  _ to him. In one flurry of movement, he turned to the fireplace, grabbed the fire poker off the stand and hurled it with all of his force at Giovini’s head. 

With a sharp cry, Gio ducked, covering his face with his hands as the metal rod  _ banged  _ violently against the back of the headboard, coming down to bounce in the bed beside the man. 

“Holy  _ fuck.”  _ he yelled, panting heavily with adrenaline, and Randolph just stood, heaving for breath in front of the fire, still bent over slightly from flinging the heavy object across the entire room. Without hesitating for a breath, he screamed, spit flying and dark, luscious hair falling in front of his eyes. 

“ _ You ignorant bitch.”  _ he roared, throwing his half-smoked cigarette behind him in the fire, “My father told me to  _ kill  _ the bastard, and I was going to bring his head back on a  _ fucking  _ stick.  _ What did you do?”  _

“I didn’t do anything!” Ronny cried out, the adrenaline from being nearly impaled still coursing through his veins. 

“ _ He  _ changed the objective, alright? He told me the old plans were scrapped and the new mission is to _ recruit him _ , not kill him.” 

The world fell out from under Randolph’s feet.

He felt himself begin to fall. Now, his fury had too much velocity to scream, so instead he whispered. 

“ _ What….”  _ he hissed under his breath, still panting between clenched teeth. His dimple flashed on his left cheek as he bared his teeth, threatening the man in his bed. Ronny rubbed a hand over his face, quite aware of the disaster he had caused, but now, there was no undoing it. He could survive Randolph if he told the boy what he wanted to know, and  _ now. _ Randolph flicked his head, more spit flinging as he screamed once again. 

“That’s impossible. The little shit doesn't have mafia blood.” he shrieked, his voice growing more and more high pitched by the second. The kid gave Ronny a look that could scald through metal as he strode in huge steps over to his wardrobe, flinging the doors open so that they banged against the hinges. 

“Go to your room, Giovini, and get out of my fucking sight.” he spat, ripping articles of clothing off the hangers, the metal clanking and clacking against each other as he did so. He hardly chose anything special to wear, simply a waistcoat and dress pants. He began to dress frantically, whipping his signature snake belt off the rail of the dresser, the leather slapping against the paneled back.

He never went anywhere without that belt, made by Gucci with two golden snakes intertwining together as the buckle. 

Randolph was too enraged to listen to the sounds of the man in his bed, swinging his legs out and feverishly collecting his articles of clothing he had shed all over the floor like a dog when the two had first entered the room twenty minutes ago. 

“If you don’t resign your name to this case by the end of the day, I swear to God I’ll kill you.” he snarled, aggressively gritting his teeth as he fit the buckle into the proper hole around his lean hips and buttoned up the waistcoat. 

“Don’t think I won’t do it just cause you gotta big dick. Your family isn’t nearly as important as mine, and nobody would mind overlooking another Giovini corpse underground. I sure as hell know I won’t.” he shot Ronny a look that could cut through bone as he passed, heels of his leather shoes thumping on the carpet.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noted the shocked look on Ronny’s face, and the chip where the fire poker had taken a chunk out of his headboard due to the impact. That wasn’t his fault. It was Ronny’s decision to give out information slower than some of the people Randy had tortured in his past, and those were tough shells to break. 

Whatever. There were other things for him to think about, and another intention on his mind at the moment that had nothing to do with the traitor he had let into his bed. With one arm, the teenager powerfully slung open his door, not even bothering to take the time to slam it behind him. He left Gio in there because he wasn’t stupid enough to stay there any longer after Randolph had gone. Lest he want a bullet in his forehead. 

The boy ran a hand through his hair, trying to appear as though he wasn’t as infuriated as he was as he strode down the hallway, taking a left turn at the portrait of one of his uncles and skipping two corridors before taking a right. The windowless halls were always dim with a warm glow of light to mimic evening, and Randolph breezed through them as if he was electronic, his motions sterile and stiff as he knew his way around better than any other in these walls. 

For once, he wasn’t thinking of how pretty his dark, thick hair would look streaming behind him in wavy locks as he sped. He didn’t bother to think of the fact that he hadn’t even chosen a suit to go over his waistcoat, just flung on the first thing in his dresser that probably wasn’t even perfumed. The guilt gnawed softly, quietly at his gut. 

As guilt always did...

He knew when he walked in on his father, he would not be happy. Not at all. But why the hell should he care at this point; he was going to encounter him with his outrage. Putting Giovini on the case was an offense too great not to be confrontational about it, and Randolph was sick of waiting. 

Sick of cowering in the shadows and following his father’s orders for him to take on mediocre tasks and attend parties as if it would make up for the shameful fact that Randolph was put in the field less and _less_ every day. 

With a hand on the corner, the boy swung himself around another bend, the weak sound of multiple voices muffled through the walls. He was getting closer to the lounge--his father’s lounge where he would undoubtedly be at this time in the evening. Brows drawn down darkly, he prepared himself, and yet… his heart threatened to rip out of his chest.

Fear. 

He should have been more prepared. 

The deep brown of his eyes flickered as he remembered moments scattered through his life like a handful of sand brushed across a table. 

His father turning away with nothing but a pat on the head as a nine year old Randolph showed him the enclosure he had set up all by himself for his first corn snake. It had live plants and rock hides, a basking spot and everything. He had worked on it for three days with a nanny, and his dad gave him nothing but a shred of tousled hair. And the boy gripped onto that moment for the entire following year. 

Randolph clenched his jaw, drawing nearer the voices. A laugh broke out inside the room, lighthearted and vivacious. It made him remember all the boastful moments his father had shown him off to his friends like a specimen, like his proud son, and yet when they stepped out the doors, his father clapped him on the shoulder and went his own way in the chill of the night. Back to his friends without so much as a word. Back to his allies. And Randy went to his room.

This mission, this assignment should have brought them to peace: Randolph could prove his worthiness to him, and in doing so exterminate the Hamilton rat. But his father had ruined it; he had drawn the last straw, and now it was time for the boy to confront his father for the first time in his life. If he didn’t have the wave of shocked rage to ride on, he would cower away from this too--go back to his silence and compliance, show off at parties, take the morsels of missions that he could get. 

But not today. Not this time. 

His molars ground together in determination. The era of waiting in the shadows was over. 

The Harlem Reaper would not walk amongst their ranks if it was the last thing Randolph did. The boy that had gunned down so many of their own was not going to stand alongside Randolph as an ally, joining in festivities, becoming one with the families. 

The teenager imagined... his father. One large hand on the Hamilton boy's shoulder, gazing down on him in pride... 

His eyes darkened. 

With one hand outstretched in front of him, he pushed through the double doors, the two footmen standing on either side only dipping their heads slightly, as they recognized Randolph effortlessly and recognized his authority in entering the room; arguably the most exclusive room in existence. 

“Sir.”   
“Sir..” they both mumbled as Randolph didn’t waste his time on glancing at them, passing with nothing more than a gust of air following his quick-moving body, striding through the threshold of the room. 

Immediately upon entering, the rich scent of warm cigar smoke stung his nose, the woody, pine-like odor of a burning fire in the hearth and the natural scent of antique woods, polish and aged scotch flooded his senses. The conversation he walked into was obviously at its height, laughter ringing through the muted plush of the room, decorated with dim, smoky portraits and animal heads. Warmth radiated from the large, roaring fireplace, and Randolph ignored the stuffed heads of animals on the wall, the crown jewel being the lion’s head completed with flowing golden mane. His father collected these for sport. 

Boots thumping on the embroidered carpet, the red armchair his father utilized came into sight--sitting in the middle of the room and facing the fire. As always, a cart of drinks was set off to the side and a glass rested leisurely in each sophisticated hand. 

Unexpectedly, there was a stutter in his step. A falter. 

His eyes were drawn upwards to the massive portrait that hung above the mantelpiece, a... new portrait. 

His brows flickered down.

There above the roaring fire used to hang a portrait of his uncle who went by the name of Burr. The man was tall and lean, his portrait elegant against the dark and dim backdrop, but this time, there was an entirely new portrait. And it was like looking into a mirror. 

As the doors swung closed behind him, the conversation petered off to whispers and then to silence, heads turning and fabric shuffling curiously as the people in the armchairs and couches turned their bodies towards the newcomer. 

Randolph lifted his chin, trying to tear his eyes away from the towering, larger-than-life-size portrait of himself in a waistcoat and cane, loosely gripping a revolver above the fire. His own dark eyes painted into the canvas seemed to follow him... boring into his skull. 

With a tinge of guilt… he shoved it out of his mind. 

The last head to turn was the one facing directly away from him. Burr. Or rather--the man that  _ used  _ the name of Burr after the real one had tragically committed suicide in his cell. 

And as the light-haired head turned, the hand leisurely on the cushioned, red arm of the chair, Randolph gathered together all of the rage and offense he had accumulated across the entirety of his life. The injustice, the neglect, the utter disregard.

“Father.” he proclaimed in a clear tone, the tone he used when he was in charge, when he was the ringleader. Burr turned his head towards Randolph, his handsome face breaking into a smile, yet there was a hint of something else in his eyes… 

Randolph could nearly taste it... 

“My boy.” he purred in a jolly manner, opening one arm in a gesture for Randolph to come forth. The man’s golden banded ring glinted in the firelight, the shadow of the flames flickering across his apparently delighted face and outstretched hand. But Randolph could read more in a man’s face than any other. His father knew that something was wrong. His father knew Randolph had found out his secret. 

The youngest in the room rounded the chair, the heat of the fire warming the fabric on his pant leg as he stopped politely in front of the man that called himself a father.

“May I speak to you?” Randolph requested, stopping beside his chair so that he was towering over his father in a less-obvious manner, but the men in the seats all stared at Randolph and Burr in a hush, eyes travelling between the two young men, father and son inconspicuously. 

Burr blinked, delighted expression on his face not wavering. This was obviously an embarrassment. 

“Son?”   
“In. Private.” Randolph spoke slowly, not bothering to look at the other guests or to go through  _ any  _ of the usual formalities he was so articulate at following. This time, he did things... _his_ way. 

For a few moments, the only sounds were the crackling of the logs in the fire and the tik… tik… tik… of the grandfather clock that stood hidden in the corner, pendulum swinging in its heart. Randolph stared for the first time, uncowering in the icy pale blue of his father’s eyes... determined.

There was danger there. There was a threat. And yet Randolph was unmoving. The Hamilton boy was his to end, and his alone. _No one..._ was going to be recruiting him. Not on his watch. And his father could see that loathing in his son's eyes. 

Finally, Burr licked his lips, eyes breaking from his son’s. 

“Excuse me gentlemen.” Burr leaned forth, placing his scotch glass down on the table beside him with a ringing “clink” of glass on glass… 

  
  


**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [To Love Thy Enemy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29368506) by [revolutionary_romanticv](https://archiveofourown.org/users/revolutionary_romanticv/pseuds/revolutionary_romanticv)
  * [The end.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29531682) by [coffeeflavoredtears](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeflavoredtears/pseuds/coffeeflavoredtears)




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